


The Lost Girl

by Fangirlhani



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Bondage, Chases, Drama, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Eventual Happy Ending, F/M, Friendship, Friendship/Love, Molly hooper has a past, Organized Crime, Romance, Sherlock and Molly meet eventually, Sherlock helps Molly through a lot, Slow Burn, This has happy ending, molly hooper has a secret
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-03-17
Updated: 2015-10-14
Packaged: 2018-03-22 13:26:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 14
Words: 50,615
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3730609
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Fangirlhani/pseuds/Fangirlhani
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Set after season 3, when no message from Moriarty happens and Sherlock's exile turns out to be more than that of 4 minutes. What he found in his chase of truth was nothing he ever expected to find. A secret buried deep down in Molly's life. Eventual Sherlolly.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Exiled for ever

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is my first Sherlolly story. I'll be trying to bring detective around pathologist under very unusual circumstances. Readers be patient. A million thanks to lovely writingwife83 and MrsMCrieff for beta reading this fic. Ladies, you're amazing and you know it. Enjoy xxx

_Running as fast as he could, grasping an unconscious child to his chest, he heard another bang behind him. The force of the explosion knocked him to the ground. He was bleeding, shielding the child with his hands as he found his feet again. Bleeding and struggling to breathe, he finally made it out of the house. Reflected flames flared his teary eyes as they caught sight of the scene before them; an inferno sweeping through the house._

_"The authorities will be here any moment," he thought as he looked down at the child, before he heard a nearby commotion. Everything was hazy and filled with pain with blood dripping down his body; his mind was refusing to cooperate._

_There was no time to waste – with a last look he turned his back on the house now burning in a sky kissing flames; pulling the child closer to him he disappeared as if into thin air._

* * *

_**18 September 1983** _

_**Devastating fire kills three** _

_"_ _**Tragic loss of life occurred here at Edinburgh today when a sudden fire rampaged through the house. Renowned mathematicians Adam and Emilie Manson, awarded with the academic award only last month, were found burned to death in the family home yesterday night. Initial investigations reveal a gas leak in the area to be the potential cause of the fire. The authorities are, however, tight- lipped about the accident. The tragic accident left –** _

A knock at the door interrupted his reading.

"Yes?" said Mycroft Holmes putting the newspaper cutting back into the green file bearing an inscription "Classified".

"Sir, they are here," responded his P. A. Anthea from the doorway. He gave her a formal smile and nodded. It had only been a matter of days since the file lying in front of him had been so delightfully returned; the case having been declined by the consulting detective. The circumstances were now, however, hugely different. Putting the file back onto his desk, he strode out of his office.

"In any event, there is no prison in which we could incarcerate Sherlock without causing a riot on a daily basis."He found himself saying about half an hour later, turning his back on the parliamentary commission.

"The alternative, however, would require your approval." He said, turning to Lady Smallwood.

"Hardly merciful, Mr. Holmes."

"Regrettably, Lady Smallwood, my brother… is a  _murderer._ "

* * *

"To the very best of times, John."

He could see his younger brother stretching a hand to his best friend, not far from where he stood. Mycroft Holmes had always considered love to be a serious disadvantage. He, with all his might and authority, had always tried to prevent his brother from emotional indulgence in people. At the end of the day, he couldn't blame the consulting detective. He himself had failed to set an example. And now he was standing here; obliged to complete what he never wanted to start in the first place — sending Sherlock to a task which held little chance of life expectancy.

Sherlock marched away from John. He nodded to Mycroft as he boarded the plane now ready to take him away. Once inside, he removed his coat and scarf and sat by the small window. With a roar, the engines of the jet came to life. Within a few minutes he saw London fading away, far beneath him, through the small window. He felt his eyes burning with the intensity of the pressure that he was feeling behind those bluish green pupils. He would fool no one but himself if he said he was at ease with leaving all that he had behind him; his work, his home, his life – all those things which made him Sherlock Holmes - and above all  _his friends._

Not once had his hands trembled when he shot Magnussen straight in head; but he remembered how he had found himself shaking in his boots when he had to witness the same man hurting John. He remembered how he had made a vow to protect the Watsons—all three of them, just some months ago. He was at least content — content because he had fulfilled his vow, by removing the danger lying in the path of their happiness.

But all this doesn't alter the fact that he was now leaving never to come back to this place again -  _ever_. He, for all he knew, would be dead in no less than six months by Mycroft's estimate. Sherlock stared back at his lap and was surprised to see the slight tremble of his hands. Immediately looking away from them, he placed his head back on the seat; fisting his hands just to control the trembling fingers as he felt his vision slightly blurred by the wetness of his eyes. He was conscious as he sat all alone in this luxury jet, that no one was there to see him; the detective that people thought of as so emotionless, breaking. If this was his state now; he appreciated his decision of bidding no personal farewells to Mrs. Hudson, Lestrade and….. Molly.

"Molly…"

Sherlock opened his eyes quickly as this name stuck in his mind. Where had she been all these months? The gravity of the events that took place in recent months hadn't allowed Sherlock to pay any attention to other cases, let alone solving them; followed by little to no visits to Barts. Now he came to think about it she hadn't even visited him in the hospital when he had been shot. Where was she?

It was pointless to regret his carelessness regarding losing contact with Molly. Especially, he reminded himself, seeing as from now on he would be losing track of each person he called his friend. The last thing he wanted was the sight of that woman struggling with pain. He was perfectly sure; she wouldn't be able to handle it.

Sherlock exhaled in frustration. He needed to start working – a distraction – from all these feelings that were surfacing without his consent. He closed his now slightly reddened eyes again and tried to enter his mind palace, when a man holding a phone interrupted him.

"Sir, it's your brother."

Sherlock took the phone and speedily composing himself he set it to his ear.

"Mycroft?" he said questioningly.

"Hello little brother! How's the exile going?" said the elder Holmes on the other side.

"I've only been gone four minutes," said Sherlock grudgingly.

"Well I certainly hope you are not getting bored already?" Mycroft inquired in casual voice. "It seems like there's a bit of a change of plans."

"What's that?"

"You'll be apprised soon enough Sherlock. I'm sure right now what you need is a diversion."

Sherlock was getting a bit annoyed by Mycroft's implication of him being in emotional distress. But he knew who was smarter.

"I'm fine Mycroft," he responded in a rather haughty tone. "Get to the point."'

"You are to be handed a briefcase now. You'll find all the information you'll be requiring for your work in there. Try being less…  _distracted._ "

"And Sherlock…"said Mycroft as he was about to hang up.

Sherlock was surprised to hear Mycroft's voice soften. " _Do try to stay alive."_

There was Absolute silence; he did struggle to utter something but nothing came out so he hung up and handed the phone back to the man who was now placing a black briefcase on the table in front of Sherlock. Looking back out of the window he leaned his cheek on his fist. He glanced at the briefcase again and slowly reached out for it. Sitting it on his lap, it opened with a click under the movement of his slender fingers.

* * *

**3 months earlier**

The slight bounce awoke her as the plane landed on the runway. She had been tired for a long time and must have fallen asleep some time ago. The sharp pain in her neck suggesting that she had been napping in an uncomfortable position, perfectly contributed to her already throbbing head. Dragging herself up into a sitting position she applied a little massage with her hand to her neck. To her delight, it lessened some of the pain. The plane was slowing down and she got up to leave as it finally stopped. Over half an hour later she stepped out of the airport, shivering as the icy wind hit her features. She raised her hand to hail the nearest cabbie.

'Where to ma'am?' the cabbie asked as he looked through the mirror. He nodded as Molly gave him the address of her destination.

The engine of the cab accelerated under the deafening noise of thunder that rattled the windows of the carriage. Soon it started raining; by the time the cab reached its destination it was pouring heavily. Molly stared at a small house standing amidst the larger ones looking old in contrast with those around it. She stepped out of the cab, holding an umbrella in one hand and her trunk dragging behind her in the other. She strode through the water as it splashed against her boots and it took her less than a minute to approach the threshold of house. She fished a hand inside her coat pocket and taking out a key she unlocked the door.

The door opened smoothly as if it had been used often in recent years. Closing the door behind her, she slowly moved across the hallway – discarding her trunk and umbrella on the floor as she entered the sitting room.  _This was it then_ ; she was back. Back to where it all started.

Molly looked around the house like a stranger, taking small steps around hall. Without delaying a moment, she headed towards the room directly in front of her. Inserting the key in its hole she rotated the knob under her small hands. The door creaked under this sudden displacement; allowing her to enter. Her swollen red eyes gleamed as her hand reached out to switch on the lights and were eventually overcome by tears as they surveyed the room. This was  _his_ room, the man who meant the world to her.

Dead tired as she was, she moved towards the bed so neatly made – so untouched, and removed her boots and coat as tears coursed down her face at the sight of a picture sitting on the shelve. Molly curled up in the bed; burying her face into the soft pillow as she allowed silent tears to be absorbed by it; trying to feel presence of the person who once owned that bed. She was feeling as if she were hugging him as she once used to whenever she had been upset in the past.

Soon the comfort she had craved for weeks started to envelop her. She pulled a blanket over her and before she could even acknowledge it, sleep took her over.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please review :)


	2. The Xeroes

_**Three days earlier** _

Sherlock was sitting in Mycroft's office.

"In 1983 a small town in southern Scotland was demolished by a criminal network called The Xeroes. A demonstration set up purely to show the government the level of their capabilities. They were smart and experts in zero technology. Their next target would have been ten major cities throughout the UK to bring British government under their control."

Sitting back in his seat, Mycroft explained it all like a pure man of government. Sherlock settled himself in his chair in a comfortable position holding onto the green file, listening keenly to the rest.

"The crisis was dealt by Edward Balstrode." Mycroft pressed on. "A predecessor of mine."

Sherlock examined a picture of an almost bald man in his 50's, with hooded black eyes and sharp features.

"He worked closely with brilliant mathematicians Adam and Emilie Manson," he continued.

"Manson's extensive research into zero technology came handy enabling them to devise CEXON (Computer Encoded Xeroes Operating Network), a machine that disabled three hundred computer encoded zero bombs planted inside water lines under the ten cities. Using CEXON they helped the government to disable all those zero bombs."

Sherlock nodded to his brother as he brought a newspaper cutting out.

"The failure of the planned attack, however, resulted in the deaths of the Mansons along with their three year old daughter, from what appeared to be a gas leak…"

".. In a family home fitted with every possible manner of security by the government." supplied Sherlock sarcastically, interrupting his brother as he examined the picture of the three members of the family, printed on an old newspaper cutting that read "Fire Killed The Mansons".

"Yes." Mycroft replied simply. Sherlock smirked at his brother's admittance, which did not go unnoticed. Mycroft pressed on.

"The Xeroes were eventually tracked down and eradicated once the danger of the attack was over. The few, who had remained, fled to Eastern European countries and have never been a threat since. Zero technology has since been banned. In the course of 30 years, the use of CEXON had not been needed again.." he paused for a moment. "… until recently. A series of minor, but similar accidents like those in Southern Scotland have been surfacing in different parts of Eastern Europe over the last nine months."

"It seems The Xeroes are on the move again." Sherlock said.

"We are certain they will soon be touching British boundaries and we need to initiate CEXON again, to modify it, updating it with advanced improvements. Only zero technology can stop another zero machine, and as you can see CEXON is one of only two devices ever designed on the basis of zero technology," said Mycroft

It wasn't hard to guess which the other devise was. This was after all Sherlock Holmes.

"You cannot initiate a machine which is DNA protected by the Mansons. And you can't construct a new CEXON machine because you lack the data that died along with its creators." The detective deduced smartly.

Mycroft nodded in admiration. He was much impressed by the correct deduction Sherlock made. However, he concealed it brilliantly.

"If we had had the data Sherlock, you would have been sentenced already." Mycroft said matter of factly.

"Evidently the British government has hit a dead-end." Sherlock concluded, folding his arms over his chest

"The odds were struck against us, yes… until now."

Sherlock noticed the past tense and raised an eyebrow at his brother. Mycroft slipped a hand into the pocket of his waistcoat and took his phone out.

"Alexander Hasting, an undercover agent, had been ordered to follow The Xeroes. He was killed two weeks ago in the process. But we were lucky enough to receive this from him before he died."

He handed Sherlock his phone. A decrypted text was displayed before his eyes on the screen of the phone. Sherlock read the screen almost in a whisper.

 _THE GIRL IS ALIVE_.  

He looked at Mycroft, handing the phone back. "But, how?" He thought. The fact that a girl, whose death had been testified by none other than the government itself, was alive out there somewhere intrigued the Consulting Detective.

"Balstrode was a very intelligent man, Sherlock." said Mycroft, who seemed to deduce exactly what he was thinking.

"If he had altered the truth of girl's survival, it must have been due to some concrete reasons." He explained.

They sat there in silence for a minute when, locking his fingers together, Mycroft spoke again.

"An attack is coming Sherlock, we want you to help us locate Manson's girl before they do. Her life is also in grave danger just like the rest of the county. She is, in every way, our first and last hope."

Of course Sherlock didn't need him to explain why finding this girl before The Xeroes was important to them. They would surely try to eliminate the last of the family who had been directly responsible in extinguishing their very existence in the past. They would make sure to complete the unfinished job this time.

"Finding a girl, a woman by now, who everyone had thought of as being dead for the last 30 years. Interesting."

"You have only fifteen days Sherlock, at most. Find her." said Mycroft.

"And then I'll be set off to dismantle this network. This time with a firm directive of eradicating them to the core." Sherlock stated

* * *

 

_**Present Day** _

Sherlock's eyes opened at the buzzing of the phone resting next to him on the table. He stretched an arm to it and glanced at the screen which showed Mycroft's name.

"What took you so long?" inquired Mycroft when Sherlock attended the call.

"Must have fallen asleep." Sherlock replied in a slightly heavy voice.

"Glad you had some." Mycroft said with genuine concern. "Under the circumstances, I'm afraid you won't be getting much of it in days ahead."

"Not the type who needs much sleep." He reminded him.

"There's news for you brother dear."

Sherlock waited for Mycroft to proceed.

"The government is willing to nullify your exile…" Mycroft announced. Sherlock was surprised but didn't say anything, waiting for the Mycroft to continue.

".. If you miraculously managed to come out of this alive after fulfilling your assignment," finished Mycroft.

"Change of plans it seems." said Sherlock in a serious tone. The man on the other side, however, knew better.

"Indeed. Good bye, Sherlock."

"Good bye."

Sherlock placed his phone back on the table again as a small smile spread across his lips. It was definitely good news to him. The possibility of his returning back to London warmed his insides.. He swung his legs off the bed and slightly ruffling his messy hair, he moved towards the web on the wall, pinned with several photos of people relating to his case. He took a deep breath and softly massaged his eyes to rub off any remaining blurriness.

His gaze traveled from a civil officer to a government agent, from mathematicians to their machine, from zero bombs to The Xeroes. Every dimension of case directed his sense of sight back to the newspaper cutting pinned in the middle of entire setting – the picture of two Mansons holding their daughter. Every fact was drawing Sherlock back to the girl who was smiling for the camera.

Sherlock observed the picture more carefully now using all his deductive skill. Adam Manson was a man of virtue and intelligence. He was holding his wife with an unmatched air of pride. Sherlock could somehow comprehend why he would be content to have a partner that matched all his intellectual abilities. He deduced that they met in the university, had a career which started together as colleagues and eventually they married. But something had been troubling him from the very moment he had laid eyes upon their picture. What he couldn't help but notice was how incredibly similar Emilie Manson was to… Molly.

Brown eyes, small body, straight hair and the same smile plastered on her face in the picture. Everything about that woman was pulling his mind back to the one person he had left behind in London. What made this situation more complicated was the fact that the Manson's girl was also named Molly.

 _"Try to be less distracted,"_ rang a voice of his elder brother in his mind.

"Yes. Yes, I know," he hissed to himself.


	3. Truth comes hard

_"This doesn't change who you are, Molly. It shouldn't matter to you. Who your father was doesn't have to matter now. We'll make our own family."_

With a frantic squeak Molly woke up from a perplexing dream, a haunting memory she wished she could have forgotten. Drenched in sweat, she felt herself burning up, her body temperature in overload. She threw her blanket aside. Inhaling sharply she tried to balance her rapid and unsteady breaths. She rested her head against the headboard and wiped her forehead with the palm of her hand. Through the heavy curtains, hung at the window of her father's room, she could see a strip of clear dark blue sky. It was somewhere between night and dawn. The rain had stopped and Sabbath stillness was prevailing. The night was still, with hardly a breath of wind.

It took her some time to return to reality when the questions of why and where she was sprang into her thoughts. What she was been doing came suddenly flooding back in her mind. Somehow her senses were still refusing to believe that she was back in the house she spent her childhood in or the grave reasons that had compelled her to take such a step. She felt so hollow in the place where usually her heart rested.

Less than two weeks ago, she was a happily engaged woman, a carefree daughter, an accomplished doctor and a buoyant friend. It all seemed a lifetime ago now. What was she now? Nothing but a soul trapped between questions about who she was. How had she ended up living with the man she had called her dad for 35 years of her life? What was her true identity? Molly Hooper's life had been dramatically redesigned within little more than a fortnight. She could not stand lying there with nothing but questions she didn't know the answers too to keep her company.

She left the bed and walked bare foot towards her boots that she had carelessly discarded on the floor the previous night. She slipped her feet into them and set out for the bathroom. Opening the tap she let cold water run through her fingers as she bent at the basin and washed her face. When she straightened up, she was not surprised by the image reflected back at her in the mirror. She saw exactly what she had anticipated. She had never been a ravishing beauty in her opinion. But now she looked miserable and she hated it. Dark circles under her eyes were drastically enhanced and her normally bright eyes were pale due to excessive coffee drinking and the little sleep she was allowing herself in recent days, not to mention the oh so frequent crying. She contemplated her image for some moments, then stepped away, utterly ignoring it as if it were that of a third person's. Molly had never really cared about her looks, but this time it was different. Now she was remotely unconcerned about her health to alarming level. Her eyes had a fanatical focus.

She came out of the room. The need was coming back to her again so she headed toward the kitchen. Pulling open the cabinet she brought out the kettle and a mug. She looked around and was relieved that the contents she needed for coffee were already there.

After ten minutes, with fingers curled around a hot mug, Molly sat snuggling her legs on the chair she once so frequently occupied in the past facing an empty sofa. The fireplace was cold and bore a very unused and unloved look. The temperature was chilly despite the rain stopping. She wrapped her shawl around her more tightly and took a sip of the hot liquid that she was so desperately craving. Just as it made contact with her throat, it burned away some of the dejection and isolation she had been feeling just moments ago, making her feel a little better. In the last two weeks her food intake mostly comprised coffee. Without it, she was demented. It had become like a drug to her and she couldn't care less how damaging it was for her. All she wanted right then was some peace of mind and answers to her questions. Something inside her had changed. It was as if she had stopped falling, stopped wanting anyone, stopped believing in love and stopped being who she was. She simply ceased being Molly Hooper and she wasn't even aware of it.

* * *

 

**One Week earlier**

"Sorry, your engagement is over"

Those five words were buzzing furiously inside her head. Molly couldn't recall being so infuriated in a long while. There was something very unusual today. She wasn't able to decide which one was worst. The little domestic she had had with Tom last night? A forgotten engagement ring she had left in the bathroom that morning? A high consulting fool? Or the first wrongful deduction he had made about her relationship in years? Everything in her life had been turned upside down, ever since the world had got its only consulting detective back. She was concentrating hard to keep her life on track and event was conspiring against her managing this minute task.

"Minute task." Came a hopeless huff from the pathologist at the mental image of the words. Molly stared at her hand, which had just slapped a friend even though he had rightfully deserved it. She wasn't regretting anything that happened less than an hour ago in this very lab. Deliberately refusing to think about all this, her fingers tapped fast against the computer keyboard as she wrote up the details of her latest autopsy when she felt her phone buzzing inside her lab coat pocket. She took it out.

"Hi, Molly," greeted her fiancé.

She tried to sound as calm as possible. "Hi."

"I just wanted to let you know that you left your ring in…"

".. in the bathroom." She interjected. "Yeah, it's been brought to my attention just a few moments ago."

"Brought to you… How?" Tom asked her.

"Never mind. I'll be seeing you tonight?"

"No. Actually, I've got to go out of town for work. I'll see you in the morning."

"Okay." was all she managed to say. Exchanging goodbyes with him she hung up. She decided to pay her flat a visit tonight to sort out some things she had been planning to do for a week now. She was feeling calmer by now. Molly didn't want to ruin her mood today as there was going to be an interesting medical lecture at Barts later on.

The next hour brought the biggest surprise to her day so far when a stranger walked into the lab along with Mike Stamford.

"Dr Hooper this is Doctor Brien McPherson, a leading American surgeon. Dr McPherson, Dr. Hooper. She is one of the best pathologists in London."

Molly stretched out a hand to him.

"Are you... Molly Hooper?" Dr. McPherson asked her in utter surprise.

"Yes… But how do you..?"

"Your father, Arthur Hooper, was a great friend of mine." He explained in amazement. "I didn't expect to see you here." He shook her hand in delight.

"The last time I recall seeing you was when you were five." He added as he let go of her hand. A wide smile spread across her face. "But of course you wouldn't remember that."

Obviously she wouldn't have remembered any of the people her father had close associations with when they had their brief stay of two years in America. She had only been three when they went and five when they returned to the UK. As a matter of fact she didn't remember her father having many friends even after they settled back in Glasgow. Arthur Hooper had treated hundreds of people, but few he truly counted as friends. He was a very reserved man just like… Sherlock.

She couldn't help but smile a little at that thought despite her anger at the latter.

"It's so nice to meet you again Dr. McPherson," Molly said pleasantly.

In the afternoon, Dr. McPherson delivered the medical lecture for which he had paid Barts a visit. After finishing, he had a proper chat with Molly, inquiring about her father and his last days.

"He really loved you. There are few men I've seen in my entire professional career like him who loved and worked for their child like Arthur did." The elderly doctor announced.

Molly couldn't help but smile at this. It was a fact that her father loved her in a way no other man she knows would have done. Coming from Dr. McPherson's mouth seemed to seal this fact. She looked at him in earnest as he continued.

"I was so moved to witness the lengths he went to ensure your safety when we all thought you wouldn't be easy to save at all," he said seriously.

"Wouldn't be easy to save?" she frowned at him. "What do you mean?"

"Well, you had such a dreadful fall and had a massive blood loss." Taking a sip of his tea he explained.

"Oh.." she answered in comprehension.

"The complication started when no O negative blood was at our disposal, as you know it's not easily available. Of course, things would have been much easier for us if he had shared the same blood group as yours. But that was rather impossible, seeing as he wasn't your biological father…"

The rest of his tale went unnoticed as she gaped at the last four words he had uttered. She felt as though millions of invisible knives pierced her body and stabbed at her heart. It felt as though just for a moment her heart had stopped.

"What do you mean by he was not my biological father?" she cut him short.

".. it was a hard task to.." Dr. McPherson stopped in mid-sentence to look at the horrified expression on Molly's face. He swallowed hard and his mouth shut tight.

"What did you mean?" she repeated, this time higher than she meant to.

This completely baffled the doctor sitting in front of her.

"Well, I was told, you know… about…." The shock on her face made him pause again.

"OH!" He finally got himself to say in apprehension.

"He lied." Colour drained from his face as Dr. McPherson fell silent.

There was a long pause, an intense one and then he cleared his throat that had become dry just a few moments ago.

"I.. I'm sure he did it for your own good," he said with an air of forcing himself to admit something very unpleasant as he suddenly began to doubt his words. Molly's head was spinning violently. Her breaths had contorted inside the delicate frame of her body. The silence in the room was so awkward, so bizarre and so tense that the surgeon was finding it hard to sit there and watch the destruction that he had just brought to the person sitting in front of him.

In the blink on an eye the meeting that had been so cheerful just a few seconds ago had now turned disastrous. It was a blessing therefore when a nurse came just then to ask him to accompany her.

"Yes… yes, I will be there," he said to the nurse who nodded and left. He stood there at an absolute loss for words. Many colours came and went over Molly's face.

"I'm sorry." Was all he could manage to say, although he felt he wasn't completely at fault.

"It's okay Dr. McPherson." Molly's voice was barely audible. As soon as he left, Molly dashed out of there and rushed towards the bathroom. She shouldered open the door covering her mouth with both hands to stop the heavy sobs now threatening to burst out. She couldn't hold them any longer, just as she reached there angry tears came running down either side of her face. She held onto the wall for support and slowly rested her back against it, crying bitterly. Firmly placing the back of her hand against her mouth, she struggled to stop herself, but the grief inside was betraying her as muffled sobs continued. Her whole body convulsed. The blood in her veins seemed to turn into fire, burning every inch of her skin. Thousands of words buzzed inside her head were driving her crazy.

"… _seeing as he wasn't your biological father…"_

_"What do you mean…"_

_"I was told you know about…"_

_"When he was dying…"_

_"Daddy… I'm hurt."_

_"… my Molly is the bravest.."_

_She had gone far.. so far back._

"Doctor Hooper, are you alright?" An intern asked in concern as he ran towards Molly, who staggered on her feet, swaying as she entered the lab.

"I'm fi…" But everything went pitch black before she could say "fine".

Molly felt her head resting against something soft when she returned to consciousness. She was on a hospital bed.

"How are you feeling now Molly?" Her fiancé made his way towards her as he saw her opening her eyes.

"Tom," she whispered.

"You were unconscious for two hours." He was hovering over her gently touching her injured forehead. "So they called me. What happened?"

She stared at him dreamily. The effect of the tranquilizer they had given her not quite worn off. .

"Take me home," she muttered, going back to sleep.

"Yes of course."

* * *

 

She woke up the next morning in her own bed.

"Good morning." Tom spoke as he came in with her breakfast. "How are you feeling now?" He asked her smiling as he set it on the table next to her bed.

"They've given you a week off work," he continued as he sat next to her.

"I think…" Cupping her face, he continued. "It's time for you to take a break."

Tom stopped as he saw tears forming in her eyes and discerned heavy breaths against the palms of his hands. But before he could inquire further, she bent forward and anchored herself onto his shoulder Molly snivelled against his chest. She didn't want the mountain of grief, the size of Everest, inside her throat to explode before anyone but him.

"Molly," he sounded frantic. "What's wrong?"

But she kept on crying.

"No… it's not true… this cannot be true… of course, it's not true. How can it be? He was my father. He was… he was…" Hysterically, she repeated herself as if trying to prove it to herself but uttering every word was the most exquisite kind of agony.

Only Tom's proximity to her was the reason he heard her mumbled sentences and he looked and felt utterly confused. He slowly pushed her away to see her face. Hiccupping, Molly recounted all that happened and with every word escaping her mouth Tom's expression hardened.

"This doesn't change who you are, Molly. It shouldn't matter to you." She found him finally saying.

He withdrew his hands off her shoulders. "You need to let it go. This doesn't have to ruin your life. You should just move on."

Molly continued to watch him with a horrified expression.

"What are you saying Tom?" Her voiced trilled.

"We're making our own life together. Who your father was doesn't have to matter now," he said casually, trying to pacify her. Soon the horror changed into a grimace of shock.

"We'll make our own family." Tom faintly smiled at her. "I'm your family."

Molly ceased her crying; she was peering through such a haze of pain that it took her a long time to answer.

"You don't know me at all Tom." She looked at him with a reddened face and stony expression. After 15 minutes Tom banged the flat's door behind him, descending the stairs, with something tightly fisted inside his palm.

By the time he left, her body was trembling heavily with the amount of emotion enclosed inside it. Closing the door behind her, she headed toward her bedroom and collapsed to the floor near her bed and began to cry convulsively. It was the second stroke of the axe against her roots in two days. Oh, how she had believed he would be her tower of strength. The man she confided in, was planning to share her life with… knew her so little. She pulled herself up with difficulty and dropped lifelessly onto the bed as fresh sobs came over her again. Her brain was raging and Molly felt like she would never be able to walk again.


	4. Lost or Found

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I want to clear a point that I think is very important! I have felt that many of you might be waiting for Sherlolly interactions i.e. romance in my story which is hardly seen so far in my writing. I totally agree to that. They haven't even met till now and that might be depressing to my lovely readers. I want to tell you all that this story will progress slowly, since I have to make clear where and why Molly had been and what she did in the period she was not seen in the show. Once it's done, you'll start to get INTERACTIONS :D

Not many days had passed since Sherlock departure and if John was being honest with himself, bidding goodbye to his best friend was one of the hardest things he had ever done in his life. He watched him leave forever, but this time he had walked rather than been carried away. The final gesture made by Sherlock had ensured John's happiness but it nonetheless deprived him of the friend he had only recovered a year ago.

He had once asked for one more miracle to happen and he had been granted his wish. But he knew that miracles don't happen again and again. He was missing Sherlock already and that was a deep pain that Mary wasn't unaware of. She wasn't blind to the unmistakable sadness and pain behind all the loving cuddles, bright smiles and passionate kisses that he was giving her. There was a time when he had found solace within Mary; when Sherlock's apparent death had turned his life upside down. Now time was repeating itself again, but with the difference of Mary this time being the reason. At both events, when John was at his lowest, her love made him stronger. But there was and always would be an empty space, no one but the man, now gone so far away, could fill. Mary would forever owe her freedom and happiness to Sherlock's sacrifice.

"Want some tea?" she brightly asked John, who was back from work and now stretching his legs into a comfy position on the sofa. She meanwhile was getting bored resting all day.

"Would love some." John slightly rubbed his forehead. Mary put the kettle on and after five minutes she came in with their tea. A smile crept over John's lips when he saw his wife coming towards him and sitting next to him.

"How was your day?" Mary curled her arms around his neck and gave him a feathery kiss.

"If a fractured arm, a punctured rib, broken toe and swollen joints is called a good day, then yes, it was a fine day." He explained like a professional, with a wide grin on his face. Mary tried not to laugh and exclaimed in rather dramatic tone.

"Oh, you must be unbelievably fine today, Dr Watson." She gave him a teasing look.

"Mrs. Watson, you have no idea." Both of them started laughing at this. It had been weeks since she had enjoyed this loving side of her husband. She has desperately missed him and wanted to be free from the fear of losing this man that she loved to pieces.

"John." She spoke softly, staring into his eyes. "Honestly, are you alright?" Mary touched his face. John covered her hand under his own and pausing for a brief moment he replied.

"I will be, Mary. I will be okay. With you by my side, I'm never completely lost."

"Remind me again how I managed to get a man like you?" Her eyes sparkled with wetness.

John held her closer. "I don't remember, something about  _natural attraction towards dangerous people._ " And now she could tell he was the one teasing. She laughed again.

"Well, I think it was worth it." Mary made a small giggle and gave him a rather passionate kiss..they were interrupted, however, by a ring at the door. "Were we expecting someone?" She asked him. John headed towards the door. He smiled as he opened it.

"Hi, Greg!"

"Why wasn't I informed?" The detective inspector almost yelled at him. John stepped aside to let him enter and lagged behind him after closing the door.

"Oh, hello Greg." Mary greeted him with a wide smile, although she had heard him yell at the door.

"Why didn't you guys inform me?" he said in a lower voice this time, as he entered the living room. His gaze traveled to John who was now coming in behind him and he waited for him to reply.

"Official reasons." John said as he joined them. "We were just brought to the airport at the last minute to say goodbye."

John saw his color changing and he was pretty sure he saw Lestrade huff before he threw his hands in the air. Of course he would have known against what charges Sherlock was being exiled. That was one of the advantages of being a Detective Inspector. But that's all he had known. "And where did they take him?" still standing, he looked from John to Mary.

"Oh, some undercover work in Eastern Europe." John replied exactly the same way he had been informed by Sherlock.

"And what will he be doing after that?" Lestrade said in annoyance.

"We don't know." John briefly looked at Mary before speaking.

There was a pause whilst the Watsons watched Lestrade pacing up and down, then he spoke again a little helplessly. "Well..that makes two expert brains Scotland Yard is short of now."

"Who's the second?" John stood up straight as he asked the question.

"Molly. She's not been around for a while now as well."

At this Mary too spoke up. "Why, what happened to Molly?" she asked in concern.

"I can't tell. She called me around the time Sherlock was shot. But I was rather busy as you know." He addressed John. "After sometime when I managed to visit Barts, I was told that Molly went on an extended leave for a month. Some relative in Edinburgh was ill and she was needed taking care of."

"Yes, now you mention it I haven't seen her in long time either." John said as things were coming back at him. "Molly came to see Sherlock in hospital, just once, when he was unconscious. And she looked.. _nauseated._  And I just thought that was because how much she cares for...you know, Sherlock."

But then John recalled the words she had said to him when he had asked her if she was okay.

_"There are some things I need to take care of."_

"Yes, but now I suspect that can't be the real reason." Lestrade made both of them confused.

"What do you mean?" Mary narrowed her eyes.

"According to the intern working alongside Molly, she was granted a week off due to health issues just before it."

"Really?" John was surprised.

"May be it was because of her break up with Tom." Mary distinctly remembered the deduction Sherlock made when they were in Bart's lab that last time.

"That's not the most disturbing news of all." Both of them looked at Lestrade as he sat down.

"Then what is?" John spoke first.

"The pathologist working as a replacement has accidentally revealed to me that Molly resigned from Barts two months ago."

"WHAT?" said John and Mary together.

"Her resignation arrived soon after her leave ended."

"But why would she resign? Molly loved her work." Mary was now genuinely worried; John was white in the face.

" Yes..  _that's strange_." He said in a small voice as he tried to remember the details of his life over the past months. Everything was kind of vivid.

"It seems we have been dreadfully indifferent to our friend." Mary exclaimed as she bit her lip.

"I agree." Lestrade honestly accepted. There was a pause whilst the three of them sat silenced, lost in their thoughts.

"Oh, sorry we haven't even asked you if you want tea." Mary suddenly said, realizing they had been horrible hosts.

"No, I should be going now, Mary, maybe next time. I have work to do." He said, standing up. "I'll let you know how things go." Lestrade picked up his coat and headed towards the door.

"Yes, do let us know." John walked Lestrade to the door. When he came back, Mary was deep in thought. "It's hard to believe Molly resigned from Barts, can you believe it?"

"I think we need to confront Tom." She looked at her husband.

"What? Do you think he would.." he came and sat next to her again.

"He must know something John, something the rest of us have missed."

The truth was that they were both feeling guilty for being so selfishly ignorant towards their friends. John was feeling worse now since he had seen Molly when she was upset but he had obviously completely misunderstood the reason for it. He was now silently cursing himself for not pressing the subject when it was needed most. But hadn't he been otherwise preoccupied?

* * *

After finishing her tea, Molly sat there for a long time thinking about where she should start looking first. She had absolutely no idea what she should be doing. There was nothing to go on with. Suddenly she stood up, taking the keys from the table at her side and she made her way up the stairs. The upper floor consisted of only one room. Reaching the door of that room, she inserted the key and hesitated for a moment before opening it. She had lived for such a long time in this room and yet now it looked so very unfamiliar to her. Molly was standing in her own bedroom.

It was a simple room with reasonable decoration. There was a small sleigh bed with yellow bed sheets which contrasted with the lilac walls. Like Arthur's room, Molly also had heavy curtains hung at the windows. On the left side of the bed there was an in-built wardrobe, next to which were several shelves filled with rows and rows of books all neatly placed, on many different subjects. The dominant ones were encyclopedias of medical research, novels by popular romance writers, poetry books, pet care guidance and books on cookery and designing. The wall facing her bed had a dressing table and a small writing desk sat on the right hand side of the bed, upon which sat a picture of her college buddies laughing at some long forgotten joke. On the wall above the writing desk, there were more pictures; of Molly.. accepting certificates and trophies, a large framed photo of herself and Arthur on her Graduation day. Sitting on her bed she reached out for the picture, wiping off the thin layer of dust on its surface as she looked at it.

Molly thought had she really been so happy? It seemed too good to be true now… but yes, she had once been happy. Was she hurt? No… she was broken. Arthur was her Home. It wasn't just her identity she has lost, she felt homeless. What would you do if you were suddenly deprived of the very thing you were so used to believing in?

She looked at Maggie Walters in the picture, an orphan friend of hers. Molly used to feel sad for her, back then, for being parentless. She always used to think how difficult her life must be and she couldn't imagine being in her place. At least Molly had her dad. But now look at her, in the same place after all these years.

Molly placed the photo back where it had sat for years when her feet kicked against something hard beneath the bed. She hunched down to see what it was. She grasped it tightly and pulled it out, sitting back on her knees as she brought it out. It was a wooden box. As soon as she laid her eyes on it, she remembered what it was. She stood up carrying it over to the desk and she sat in the chair. It was her letter box. She opened the lid and scanned the contents. There were old letters from her friends from school, greeting and birthday cards and pictures. And then it struck her out of the blue.

Grabbing the keys on her way out of the door she left her room, dashing downstairs and pushed open Arthur's room. Molly opened the wardrobe and sat on her knees to insert a key into a small cabinet. After trying three different keys it opened with a click. She slowly opened it and felt happy for the first time she had come here. There was exactly the same wooden box inside as the one she had left upstairs, but this one had belonged to Arthur. She took it out with slightly trembling fingers and sat on the floor. Now, she would finally be able to see what he had been hiding in it for years. It had been a common habit of Arthur's to keep letters, something she thought she had inherited from him.

She took a deep breath to steady her fast pulse and then slowly opened it with a fear of disappointment lingering inside her heart. The first thing her eyes landed upon was a gun, obviously belonging to Arthur. Taking it out she remembered the few target practice lessons she had had with the same weapon with him. Molly took it in her hands briefly before placing it on the floor near her. She would have time for that later.

Her hands rummaged through some old pieces of papers. Slowly she checked all of them, but to her disappointment they did nothing to help her. Until that is she reached the bottom of the box where a worn out piece of paper lay, long ignored. She delicately lifted it and examined it. The writing was faded. Leaving the rest of the stuff on the floor, she got up going towards the lamp and lighting it up. She joined the torn pieces together and started reading it.

> **_Dearest Arthur,_ **
> 
> _Congratulations for your eminent success. We cannot be any more pleased, but not surprised, since we knew it would be you. It had to be you. I haven't seen Adam being so cheery in weeks. He didn't stop talking about it ever since he had heard the news. I'm happy he is having a day off. We have been working for weeks now and all this menace hovering over us is too much for him to handle. We are almost there and once it's done, the nation as well as we will give a sigh of relief._
> 
> _Yes, Molly is turning increasingly naughty with each passing day. She almost tore the toy bear you gave her last month in the name of operation. She had us both in fits. I had a hard time swallowing the laughter coming out of me when she so proudly announced her doing, dragging a stethoscope twice her length around her little neck. I think she's inspired by someone. Adam, on the other hand, is just as proud of her, saying she will be a great doctor… just like you._
> 
> _We will be having a very quiet birthday this year. Of course Molly won't complain as she doesn't even remember it's her birthday. Just the three of us and you. Like the old days._
> 
> _There are some issues that need discussing, Arthur. I'm constantly worrying about Molly these days. I think Adam does too. He won't say it to me, but I can tell. They are ensuring that the highest manner of every security is provided to us but we know the risks. It's our responsibility. So please visit us as soon as you can. We'll be waiting. Your arrival will definitely lift Adam up._
> 
> _Love_
> 
> **_Emilie_ **

By the time Molly reached the bottom of this letter, she was barely breathing. Holding onto this torn piece of paper she was at a loss. She read it again and again, simply feeling the strange sensation she wasn't sure she should be having. The faded handwriting was saying so many things to its reader. Molly composed herself and started to read it again, this time concentrating hard on the words.

" _Congratulations on your success.."_

Certainly she must be referring to the surgical thesis Arthur Hooper once won an academic award for. Molly knew about it, but it had rarely been mentioned by the said man to whom it seemed to be of little of importance.

" _Hovering menace is too much for Adam."_   What were they working on? Who were they and why were they provided with security? Surely this must be something of high importance..or maybe not? Molly thought in confusion.

What did they want Arthur to talk about? Why were they worried about her?

She was mentioned as being naughty. Was this her mother? Was the man called "just as proud" her father? Who was Arthur Hooper to them?

Too many questions to answer made her even more frustrated. But nonetheless, she thought, maybe this could be the start of her getting some answers. Reading the middle paragraph again, she rested her back against the chair and closed her eyes. In the last two weeks, this very moment was the only happy one.

* * *

The slow music playing on the radio was the only thing keeping him company as he concentrated deeply on his work. It was late at night and Davies was bent over a pile of papers when a hard blow on the back of his head made him collapse on the floor.

"Didn't see that one coming, did you?" Sherlock crouched down at the Xero lying on the floor. He had been after him for the last three days. He dragged him onto a chair and circled round to scan the room. Excitement was barely concealed on his face as he went through the papers. He took out a camera phone and started taking pictures of some of the documents whilst storing the others in his mind.

He stopped, however, when he heard a commotion on the other side of the door to the room. Slowly moving back into the shadow he'd been lurking in earlier, he waited for the intruder. The knob of the door spun and a gunned hand appeared between the slit of the partially opened door. Jack Bradford, the British double agent, stepped inside and saw Davies open mouthed and unconscious on the chair.

"I see you have already made your way in Mr. Holmes." He said in a lower voice as he slightly lowered his gun but continued to keep a good grasp on it.

"I prefer my own methods Mr. Bradford." Sherlock said in his deep dark voice as he stepped into the light.

"I can see that." The agent said in an admiring voice as he completely dropped his gunned hand to his side. Sherlock proceeded on with his unfinished work.

"It's good that we have finally arranged to meet Mr. Holmes. I wanted to inform you that the network is on red alert. Tracking down Davies was all I could manage for you at the present time .For now a very close eye is being kept on every Xero; the death of Hasting's has created a sense of doubt. I don't know how long it will be possible for me to survive in there." He explained succinctly.

"I'm aware of this fact Mr. Bradford, your service is admirable." Sherlock said with real feeling. Indeed, he had done a great job tracking down the man who was assigned the task of finding the girl. After collecting all the data, Sherlock came to stand in front of Davies and looked at Bradford to give him the next plan of action.

"What you are looking at is a traitor; working in the ranks of the network of the British government. Davies killed Alexander Hasting because he had come to know of his identity. Because of Davies, the otherwise ignorant government, now know about the girl's survival." Sherlock slipped his hands into his coat and rounded on Bradford.

"And you eliminated him, therefore nullifying the danger to the network. No suspicion will arise as the lead Davies had is still intact." Pointing at the files containing the data Davies had gathered Sherlock finished. The plan was foolproof since it was providing the network with a hole within their ranks. It was an altered yet completely convincing story incorporating all the facts.

"Yes." Bradford nodded. "But wouldn't that increase the pace of the search, Sir?

"Indeed. What we need..is to go faster." Sherlock waved his camera phone in front of Bradford as his eyes gleamed. And I think that's more than manageable now."

Thanking Bradford for his help Sherlock marched outside, leaving him to deal with the man who was now stirring.

"I've been waiting to do this for weeks." Bradford said in an utterly changed tone as he brought his gun up again. Those words made Sherlock halt just outside the room. He was enough in the shadows that Bradford wasn't able to see him. To Bradford Sherlock wasn't there.

"Alex was going to be a father. I have no doubt my best friend would be happy to know that I finished the man who made him miss the joy of parenthood."

Sherlock saw a fire in the eyes that had been calm just moments before he had departed. With a flash, he was back, outside a glass mansion, holding a gun.

" _I'm not a hero ... I'm a high-functioning sociopath. Merry Christmas!_ "

He blinked and was brought back as Bradford shot the criminal. For an instance he thought he was watching his own self in that room. Sherlock hastily turned, flipping his large coat behind him and in a few long strides he was gone.


	5. Falling off the edge

Molly held this little piece of hope in her hands. Would it be an extreme delight or a burden to bear, she wasn't sure which one it was. But this torn piece of paper, a small letter, now yellowed by age felt like a treasure to her for some unknown reason. In the period of five short days she had read this little script so many times that she had lost track of the number. It was her only hope of truth and she wasn't going to let go of it until forced otherwise. She searched high and low in her house, every corner and every inch of Arthur's room and her own. The things Molly found weren't overly helpful since she didn't know what to do with them so she put them all in a box and placed them for safekeeping in her wardrobe.

And now, now she was sleeping on her side with a hand under her face and her other arm hanging carelessly over the edge of the bed. She was buried inside her blanket. She had stared at the picture of herself and Arthur for what seemed like hours, until her eyes were out of focus. Mentally though she was somewhere else, remembering….

_"Sherlock," she suddenly exclaimed lifting her head. She had cried for two long hours after showing Tom out. Molly aggressively rubbed the back of her hand against her face. Wading through the room like crazy she grabbed her discarded bag, kneeling on the floor and rummaging through to find her phone... Breathing heavily she dialed the number as tears coursed down her face, dripping into the folds of her shirt. Holding the device at her ear as if her life depended on it, she impatiently waited and hoped for him to pick up but Sherlock's phone was switched off. Molly let out another sob of frustration and she dropped her phone before throwing her head onto her knees, hugging them closer. Barely a minute later, the device vibrated._

_"Hello Molly," came John's voice._

_She tried to contain a sob, " John, c..can I s..spea.."_

_"..I'm so sorry Molly, I was under so much pressure that i almost forgot to tell you… Sherlock's..been shot," he hurriedly went on cutting across her."He's out of danger now, but still unconscious,"_

_"Molly, are you there?" The absolute silence on the other end making him worry.._

_"I'm on my way," she found herself saying after seconds._

_The ride to hospital was one of the most difficult journeys Molly had ever had. She was surprised that she even managed to get there, when physically she hadn't got an ounce of energy left in her limbs. But somehow she was still there._

_"Molly," catching sight of her John rushed towards her. Her reddened eyes and nose made him worry._

_"It's OK. He's fine now Molly," placing his hand at her shoulder he assured her as he moved them over to a nearby bench. John supplied her with all the details about the incident with Sherlock, hoping that the information would help to make her feel better, given her state. Sitting there next to John, Molly merely stared at him. What John didn't know was that she was already in shock. She wanted to scream, to rage, and to hold onto someone—hold even John. To tell him that she was dying of pain and that with every passing moment her heart beat was sinking lower. She wanted to tell someone. But there she sat, saying nothing with John assuming it was all over Sherlock's injury._

_"Molly," he repeated, once he was finished._

_"Huh…?" she blinked._

_"I said, you were saying something before, on the phone,"_

_"Yes, i..um.. John…" her voice was distorted. She rubbed her palms as more tears started to form in her eyes._

_"Are you alright Molly?"_

_"There's something I need to take care of" she breathed._

_She didn't know why she had even said that. Her mind was miles away from making any sense. She could have said what she needed to say, to sooth her pain, to lessen the burden crushing down on her heart but she didn't say anything. Instead, she sat there as still as a statue. For the first time in her life Molly Hooper wanted to be deduced but there was no one to deduce her._

_She was brought back to earth when John stood up and directed them towards the window of Sherlock's room. More tears followed as she saw Sherlock lying unconscious in his hospital bed. A muffled sound came from her throat as she swallowed and lowered her gaze. John was visibly baffled by this situation. He was thinking maybe he shouldn't have told Molly about Sherlock until he was awake._

_"Molly, he really is okay now," he felt so bad looking between his best friend and the woman standing next to him for whom he had developed a strong platonic love over recent years. John had always respected Molly's feelings towards Sherlock and he didn't like to see her suffer like this._

_"We both know Sherlock. You in fact better than any of us know that he's good at surviving Molly," giving her a small smile he gently put an arm around her shoulder and gave it a nudge._

_"You look tired, go home and get some rest," he added as he withdrew his arm. Molly merely nodded. The best thing for her was probably to get away from here, she thought._

_"Bye John," she finally managed to say._

_He gave her a watery smile. "Bye Molly, and don't worry,"_

_When she returned to her flat a morning newspaper was lying on her doorstep. Picking it up, she unlocked the door. Molly would have been less interested about current affairs if it hadn't been for the picture she caught sight of on the frontpage. With a surge of anger she threw her bag on the bed as she entered her bedroom reading the article entitled_

**_"HE MADE ME WEAR THE HAT"_ **

_Molly cried, screamed, sat in silence, got angry and grew frustrated. In short, as she sat in her locked bedroom, she felt every emotion in the course of one week._

_She received a call from John and Lestrade and even a text from Mary, only to be asked if she knew Sherlock's bolt holes. If the circumstances had been different, she would have become worried about this situation. But things were not the same for her. Was it just her sensitivity or the emotionally needy state making her think that way or was everybody just basically interested in their own lives? – Lives all circling around only one man._

_She shattered her dressing table mirror, managing to both bruise her knee and bleed heavily from a deep cut across her palm in the process. Her spilled blood stained the carpet and the bed sheets. Molly cried and cried until her eyes felt drained of water and her lungs practically collapsed inside her body. It seemed to her like she had cried enough for a life time. That nothing worse could happen to her now, only good. She decided there and then that it would as she finally made the decision that would alter her life, the decision to find her true identity. Did anything else matter anymore? If she wasn't going to get any assistance so be it, it was her fight and hers alone. She was a fool to expect otherwise. Had she ever given the impression to any of her friends that she could also be in need rather than always the one giving? No she never had!. So why blame them, she thought bitterly._

A throbbing ache brought her back to the present when unconsciously she curled her legs against her body under the blanket. The pain of the wound momentarily made her forget the bitter, old memories she was immersed in. She sat upright and removed the blanket to see a yellowed bruise under her left knee. She had almost forgotten all about it. It was looking better than the last time but was still painful. She touched it briefly. The cut in her palm was also almost healed leaving a scar now but the bruises would still take some time. Molly decided not to think about the event associated with those injuries. Instead of lying back again she left her bed and walked towards the window.

She slowly moved the curtain aside to see steady rain falling from the dark greyish skies and she stared out into the darkness. The journey back to her old home had caused her to lose contact with every person she knew in her life and she was content to continue it until she wanted otherwise. She wasn't sure if she would ever want to return to London. Her only certainty was her goal, regardless of how much time it could take. She was determined to find the truth, her truth. The letter was a head start. Molly had thought long and hard about where to start her quest. She was sure now. She had never been so sure before in last two and a half weeks.

"I can do this alone, all by myself. I don't need anyone, you'll see." Molly glanced at Arthur's picture again with an air of determination. "I don't need anyone," she repeated again as if to convince herself.

* * *

 

Lestrade rang the doorbell and waited, after a minute or two he heard footsteps approaching on the other side of the door. The door was opened by a small man, Molly Hooper's landlord.

"Detective Inspector Lestrade," he held out his badge. "I'm here to inspect Dr. Hooper's flat."

"Is there a problem Inspector?" The landlord, a small chubby fellow, looked troubled.

"Only if there is, I have nothing to do with it. I'm only her landlord," he went on bluntly, clearly perplexed by having a senior detective standing at his doorstep asking him to open the flat of a lodger whom he hadn't heard from in weeks.

"No, there isn't any problem. I just need to have a look in the flat," Lestrade assured him but he still looked unconvinced. Regardless, he went inside and fetched the keys to Molly's flat.

"Dr. Hooper paid me in advance before leaving," he said a little breathlessly as they both climbed the stairs. Frankly, he wasn't really bothered about Molly's whereabouts since her absence wasn't causing him any financial loss. He was well served in this respect. Until this moment he hadn't even thought about Molly.

"Tell me again what Molly told you about why was she leaving?" Lestrade knew that asking him was useless he wasn't expecting much but he took a chance.

"Nothing whatsoever, Inspector," the landlord breathed out as they finally reached the upper floor where Molly had been living for the last 5 years. He inserted the key and swung open the door. Lestrade entered first and the little man followed. It was dark inside. When the lights were switched on, Lestrade mouth fell open. He wasn't expecting this.

"What on earth…" he had to phrase himself carefully in front of the landlord.

"What has happened to my bloody flat?" the landlord exclaimed with indifferent boldness, he had momentarily forgotten the timid persona he'd been displaying just a few short moments ago. .

"I want you to wait outside," Lestrade commanded with absolute seriousness as he took his phone out, his hands busy dialing a number.

"I..I knew nothing about this," the landlord said backing away in nervous anticipation.

"I Know," Lestrade sounded annoyed, "nothing will happen to you, don't panic," he added to him as he placed his phone at his ear.

The man nodded in confusion and hurriedly exited the room.

"Yes, John hi. Can you come over to Molly's right now? Yes, I'm there as well…. No, no I cannot explain this on the phone! Alright… hurry,"

Lestrade hung up and shoved the phone back inside his pocket. This was very disturbing. What exactly had been happening to their dear pathologist whilst they were busily wrapped up in their own lives? He was feeling restless now, caught up in the possibilities of what he was seeing in that flat.

After less than 15 minutes, he heard distinct footsteps ascending the stairs. He walked out and met John.

"What is it? What's happened? John asked breathlessly as the Detective Inspector approached him. Lestrade wordlessly gestured for him to follow. When he got inside again, accompanied by John, he was not surprised to see the same shocked expression on his friend's face that he'd had on his own fifteen minutes earlier.

"Oh my God…" were his first words.

"Yeah, it was just the same when I came, that's why I called you." John shook his head.

The entire flat was turned upside down. Every single thing was out of place. John moved around to have better view as Lestrade stood still. Of course he had conducted a brief search whilst waiting for John's arrival. There were books, several of them, lying in a heap on the floor evidently having been roughly handled, as had two sofa cushions. The small table was stained by spilled tea which had long since dried. A broken cup had rolled beneath the table. Everything was covered by a thin layer of dust.

John went quickly to Molly's bedroom door and rotating the knob he opened it. Lestrade who was bent down studying a pile of books didn't notice John entering Molly's room. Yet again, her bedroom bore the same mess as that made in the living room but the condition of her room was much worse when compared to that of the rest of the flat.

"Greg," he turned and shouted over his shoulder. Lestrade hurried over and together they moved over the threshold.

The first thing they both saw was a shattered mirror, half of whose pieces were scattered across the floor, dangerous enough to potential injure anyone moving around the room . Very carefully they walked past them. There were no clothes inside the wardrobe, whose door stood ajar.

"Who would've made such a mess?" John asked.

"This isn't how a house would be left in if you were going to be going on a long vacation,"

Something stained on the carpet made John halt.

"What's that?" he moved closer kneeling down. Of all the shocking things John had witnessed so far, this topped his list. Lestrade joined him as well. There was a dried blood stain turned brown. They were still processing this when another stain caught Lestrade's sight at the edge of the bed sheet. They gave each other worried looks.

John surveyed the room further, his eyes drifted from bed sheet to the newspapers scattered under the edge of the bed each belonging to different newspaper companies with only one thing in common; the picture of Mary's chief bridesmaid on the front-page. Janine was wearing a hat in a picture below which were printed the headline

**_He made me wear the hat_ **

"Excellent," John said sarcastically, dropping the papers. "What the bloody hell was going on here?" he kicked the air with anger. "How could we be so careless?"

Lestrade knew the question was rhetorical.

"There's blood on the carpet and a mirror shattered at the floor. What do you make of it?"

"Something bad," Lestrade replied, making John's expression hardened. "We can't formulate theories though, not without the proper information John," he said as they exited the room.

"So, what are we going to do now?"

"I'll re-visit Barts, see if I can gather any information about where Molly went in Edinburgh or anything relating to her departure," Lestrade started to put his gloves on. "Somebody must know something; we just need to find that person."

"And I think I know who that person could be," John whispered to himself as they descended.

"We'll find something, don't worry John," Lestrade said as they reached the ground floor where the landlord stood waiting.

"Lock the flat again," he ordered him. "And don't touch anything," he added pointing a finger at him. He nodded and fled upstairs.

* * *

 

Sherlock darted past several buildings, taking long strides and occasionally running. His eyes gleamed every time he jumped in and out of the light from the street lamps. Amid the frozen silence of midnight the beating of his heart seemed to be magnified ten times in his ears.

As soon as Sherlock returned back to his hideout, he practically yanked the scarf, looped around his neck and tossed it at the nearest thing he could see. He took deep breaths as he proceeded to remove his coat. What he had just seen back at Davies place had frightened him. Yes he was frightened, not because of what he saw or heard but from what he felt. The emotional upheaval he felt in a flash caught him off guard. Though he has denied it for most of his life, he does have feelings. He feels so hard for some special people in his life that at times like this, it almost physically hurt. Sometimes… just sometimes, he wished he could let them in through the barriers he has built around himself.. To let them feel how important they are in his life, all of them - his best friend, his landlady, his Detective Inspector and his pathologist. The last time when he was away, he had thought about it every passing second as he broke down Moriarty's web. But the feeling vanished when he had returned back to them with the surety of never going away this time. Now, it was surfacing again, crawling at his skin, lingering inside his heart and stained inside his soul. Was there still a chance for him? He wondered. Surely he wasn't too late for this or was he? Yes, he always had been too late, too late to make a move, to ask for an apology, to make a confession and _to ask for dinner._

"The quicker I finish, the sooner I will be back." He said out loud to himself.

Sherlock went through the information he had collected during tonight's encounter. For two long hours, he analyzed and arranged every bit of data he had gathered in his already established web and when he was done, the map on his wall was twice the size it had been.

As much as he wanted to proceed, he had to admit he was feeling a bit somnolent. Having had no sleep for almost three or four days, he couldn't quite remember, it was starting to affect his deductive abilities; he was after all still a human with all those basic needs. He decided to take a sleep for an hour or two as soon as he had finished. The place he was staying at was merely acceptable but obviously there was little he could do about it. He wasn't at home, he was on a mission. It was hardly a spacious room, just a small but relatively comfortable bed compared to the rest of the little furniture that the room had. At this moment though that bed was like a wing of an angel to Sherlock. He had lived rougher than that before, he was immune now. As he laid himself down, he decided not to dwell on the data in his mind; instead he drifted off and relaxed himself into a sleep. He didn't anticipate it truly but he was indeed very tired, more mentally as opposed to physically. The fact that sleep came right away was the proof of it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A good news for the readers, One more chapter till the interactions start.


	6. The Manson's girl

He had been observing her sitting four desks away for the last month. He would say his curiosity was increasing with every passing day regarding that particular woman with the brown eyes and hair always tied up in a high ponytail. She was always busy, always so immersed in her work and so easy to find since she was always either in Genealogy or the archive of old newspapers. She seems so oblivious of her surroundings; so much so that twice he had seen the librarian informing her that it was closing time. There was so much seriousness in her posture; he hadn't seen that in any other person of that age in his life. But despite her strange behavior, she struck him as an impressive figure. He had mustered up the courage to walk over and chat to her but her obvious indifference caused him to step back after having an almost one sided talk with her for five minutes. Despite the fact that she appeared to not be interested in anything other than her work, he couldn't help but find her ever more intriguing.

But today something different happened; a small smile appeared on her face for the first time since he had seen her. She took something out of her bag, a paper maybe. Yes he was sure it was a paper and he saw her eyes glisten for a brief moment as she went through an old newspaper lying in front of her. He watched as she took yet another sip of her third coffee of the day as she so eagerly started scanning her papers. His best guess was that she had come across something interesting relating to whatever she was researching. Today, he thought he'd give it another go and he approached her table.

"Mind if I take this seat?" He asked politely.

Molly barely nodded before glancing at him for the briefest moment before returning back to her work. He eyed her nervously before speaking.

"I'm Bill, we met last week. In the genealogy section." He reminded her.

Molly looked at him again only to give a brief yes.

"You're Molly, right?"

She nodded this time without even looking up from her work. He observed some books lying in front of her. He sat there pretending to do some of his own work after another failed attempt to start a conversation with this peculiar woman. Oblivious to his overtures of friendship, Molly continued on with her studies.. But if she were honest, she wasn't in the mood for interruptions right now. She had a clear goal. She was so close and she didn't want to be bothered at all when she had worked so hard to find these things. After some time, he decided it was probably best to leave her alone.

* * *

Molly had decided to start at the beginning. She had gathered all the information she could from the letter written to Arthur. She gave it some more time by reading it again and didn't let up until she was finally convinced that she couldn't get any more meaning out of it. Her mind kept gliding back to the "hovering menace" again and again. In her mind, she set the priority of finding who Adam and Emilie were since Molly was mentioned by them, something none of the other letters that she found in Arthur's letter box had.

That letter was obviously written somewhere near the time of Arthur's winning his award, and Molly deduced that whatever problem the pair of them were facing must be around that time. That much was certain from the first paragraph of the letter.

Molly wished she had found out more about Arthur's great achievement when she had had the chance but she hadn't .If only she had known how important that part of his life would be in her future she would have been more thorough. But which part of his life was not proving important to her now? That was the irony of it; she huffed to herself, she had never in her wildest dreams thought she would need to explore her past like this.

It took her four days to track down the exact dates of the day he received his award. She went through various articles and journals on educational achievements and awards relating to the last 50 years. She came across some names she was familiar with but not the one she was seeking right now. It was almost closing time when she had finally spotted it. The name "Arthur Hooper" was printed in the context of Achievements in Surgical Sciences" section of the current book she was holding. He was fifth in the list. She hurriedly searched for the page number mentioned on the content's page. When she opened it, she found the following:

**5\. Dr Arthur Hooper – Honored with the academic award on August 1987 for his scholarly paper "Modern-Veteran surgical methods" publishing detailed studies on ancient surgical treatments.**

**(News report 1983)**

She noted the date in her small notepad before stuffing her things back into her bag and tossing the empty cup of coffee in the nearby dustbin. As she left the library, she felt as if a lump was sliding down her throat. She felt like she could breathe again after having found a bit of something to go on. As she walked back to her home, tightly wrapping her coat around her to avoid the bitter cold November wind harshly blowing across her face, her thoughts were wandering around the possibilities of where her research could take her next. Her exact thoughts were now she had the right date she could search anything specific that happened during that time period. The idea of examining newspapers covering the events of maybe a year or two; she wasn't sure how long, made her feel tired just thinking about it. But to be honest, it was the fear of disappointment that was making her doubt her own plan. What if she didn't succeed? What if it wasn't the right point to start with? She was after all a doctor not any detective or spy. Thoughts like that came flooding back at her again and again. She berated herself for thinking like that, which was often. She needed to be optimistic, to believe in herself because there was no other option. She had the date now, she reminded herself, she knew it would take her somewhere on her quest she just wasn't sure where. She took long strides as it slowly started raining.

It was the next day when her research took her to the next phase of success. Before her very eyes were more articles referred to in the book she had taken notes out of the day before.

**Once again the UK made the headlines with a new exciting scholarly thesis.**

**Washington DC, August 15:**  in the International Medical Convention held here in Washington, the UK wins yet another award. Dr Arthur Hooper has been honored with a prestigious international distinction at a ceremony held on Friday. His paper "Modern-Veteran surgical methods" published only three weeks earlier received huge appreciation among his peers .Dr Hooper's published paper won the academic award during a ceremony at IMC.

Dr Hooper, 35 – was one of only ten doctors nominated internationally for this award. He was also one of three honorees asked to offer remarks during the announcement.

"I'm very humbled to receive this award"  **said Dr Hooper**. "It is a great honour."

An honouring ceremony was held in Edinburgh shortly after and was attended, along with others, by the former winners in the fields of Physics, Mathematics, Information Technology and Medicine.

" **He (Dr Arthur Hooper) is a man of extraordinary and diverse talents and I feel pride in the acknowledging of his medical abilities."** , remarked the mathematician Prof Adam Manson, when asked about his former university colleague;  **"And he absolutely deserves such high honour."**

Molly's mouth dried as she reached the bottom lines of the article. Prof Adam Manson….? So he was his colleague. Prof Adam Manson… The name was hammering inside her head. For a minute or two she sat there silently in disbelief. But then she made a small squeak as she grabbed the paper tightly at its edges with excitement. This discovery lifted her spirits to an amazing level of optimism and for the first time in weeks she finally had the feeling that her plan might actually work. The next few weeks saw Molly spending every waking hour researching everything she could gather about this new lead.

**The Mansons won the day again.**

**University of Edinburgh;**  The famous mathematician couple made yet another illustrious achievement yesterday when the pair was conferred an academic award for reshaping the latest zero technology. The University of Edinburgh's Professor received the honour along with his colleague and wife Emilie Manson.

The Mansons received this honour from the Secretary of Education at the 35th Annual National Educational Conference held here in Edinburgh attended by representatives of various educational fields and many other important people. In his address the Secretary of Education paid his congratulations to the winners of the award.

Although they have received major prizes before, Adam Manson said he did not spend much of his time wondering when the next one would come. Referring to his academic award he said this wasn't something he was expecting and it was an exciting experience.

The Mansons who both work at UOE were cheered by hundreds of students later as they gathered at an open ceremony held by the university.

" **The greatest pleasure in life is doing what people say you cannot do. Go for what you believe without the fear of loss or failure."** Proffered Emilie Manson when asked for a piece of advice by one of the students. The ceremony that went –

A picture of the two, in their late thirties, accepting their award from the Secretary of Education was printed in the paper under which were written the words

" **Adam Manson and Emilie Manson receiving their academic award at 35** **th** **ANEC."**

Just under this article lay more than five other newspapers, all citing other achievements by the Mansons. All with different dates and times; and above all was the newspaper that Molly was currently holding.

**Devastating fire kills three**

"Tragic loss of life occurred here at Edinburgh today when a sudden fire rampaged through the house. Renowned mathematicians Adam and Emilie Manson, awarded with the academic award only last month, were found burned to death in the family home yesterday night. Initial investigations reveal a gas leak in the area to be the potential cause of the fire. The authorities are, however, tight- lipped about the accident.

**Investigation: Police officer says that the horrific accident appears to be a tragic accident. (File picture)**

According to Fire Services five fire engines attending the scene fought for four hours to extinguish the fire that destroyed almost the entire house. A spokesperson for the hospital told our reporter that the fire blast caused the immediate death of Adam and Emilie Manson while the girl suffered approximately 70% burns involving face and body. She was brought to the intensive care burns unit where she died of her injuries two hours later. Full investigation into the cause of the suspected gas leak has not yet commenced.

**Adam and Emilie with three years old Molly ( file picture)**

The government spokesperson, Edward Balstrode, paid his regrets over the sad incident deaths of the ingenious mathematicians along with their three years old daughter, Molly Manson in a message broadcast on national radio and television. He called the loss a tragedy.

The tragic accident left the town grieved and angry for the deaths of the professors who were idolized by many of their students and friends

The accident has left people in the town very sad and traumatized. The University of Edinburgh was also in mourning after the news.

"It's an incomprehensible loss," said one of the students gathered with other mourners.

Regardless of the cause of the fire, the deaths of the Mansons have created a huge sense of grief and restlessness among both the students and university staff alike.

**The family house in Edinburgh where the Manson died.( file picture)**

Molly was sitting on the carpeted floor of her room, her legs crossed and her eyes drifting from one paper to another scattered across all the available space. Silent tears were falling from either side of her face now as she softly touched the picture of Adam and Emilie holding her. She had no memories of these two people whose blood was running through her veins. They looked so happy. Standing next to Adam the woman, so tenderly holding a little girl, was amazingly similar to Molly, now that she noticed her closely. Her hair was a rich shade of brown tied into a comfortable bun. Her eyes, framed with long lashes matching her hair were bright and confident. Emilie Manson was a delicately beautiful small woman. The resemblance to herself was remarkable. Adam, on the other hand, was a tall and handsome man, sweetly towering over his wife securing one arm around her shoulder. He had dark sharp black eyes. He was in every way of man of striking personality.

Molly couldn't help but wonder what her life would have been like if she had been brought up by these two amazing people? Where would she have been now? Which brought her back to her original question. How had she ended up with Arthur when she was supposed to be dead in that same fire that killed her parents? She was officially declared dead and the newspaper was the proof of it; she glanced back at the article clearly stating "Devastating fire killed three". But here she was, very much alive and had been for the last 30 years. It all seemed deeper and complicated than what it looked.

More questions… she was tired of all these questions that had been haunting her for months and in the end what was she facing? More questions. Molly unconsciously hugged herself; something she did so frequently whenever she was feeling lonely. In recent weeks every passing moment for Molly was lonely. She felt like the loneliest person on the face of earth. She had no one to talk to, no one to cling onto when she grew frustrated, no one to laugh with, no one to shout at, no one to love… she had  _no one_..that was the simple truth of her life and she had accepted it. Had they never wondered not even for one second in all those weeks about where had she gone? The people she used to call her  _friends_. And he,  _he had once said to her that she was the one that mattered the most_. Had he not thought for a single moment about her? If only for his own needs?

In the early days, when Molly used was walk to the library; every time she half expected to see someone tall gliding along in a long coat coming to stand right in her way, asking her where she had been? That he had been looking for his pathologist, like he always used to do. Every time she returned back home, she half expected him to be there; stretching himself on her sofa or invading her bedroom… yes she wanted to be invaded, to be disturbed, now more than ever. But with each passing day, her faith had grown weaker and weaker until the day when she felt literally nothing except hollow and incomplete. She wanted no one in her life. Had she ever meant anything to any person in her life? Without knowing it, Molly was suffering from ASD (Acute Stress Syndrome) to a dangerous level. She was eating very little food, her health was deteriorating and her mind was starting to go numb. The long suffering and absolute loneliness faded every good memory she had had in her life replacing them with nothingness.

His voice rang in her ears.

" _Darkness is a cursed thing Molls, it senses loneliness…. and preys on the person suffering with it. Promise me my child, promise me..that you will never stay alone. You will never let darkness into your heart because your heart is the most beautiful part of you."_

"You said my heart was the most beautiful thing…" She shouted. "Then why hadn't  _my beautiful heart_  moved anyone?" She heard her voice after what seemed like weeks. There was so much immeasurable hurt in her question.

"I'm breaking my promise… do you hear me? I'm brea.k..king.. my.. promise… DAD." She stumbled over her last words.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *sniffs*she is so alone and hurt. I want to hug her. Stupid Sherlock, why are you so careless.. oh but the damage is done and you have to work hard now to repair it. Alright, now you know who is the woman Sherlock searching. This is going to be fun. :D


	7. The Quest Begins

Sherlock might not be emotional when it comes to his country, but he was certainly happy for many other reasons when his lead regarding the cause of the Xeroes finally gave him good concrete reasons to bring him back to the UK. The data garnered from Davies, the Xero, had hugely assisted him and from those minute details he assimilated and almost deduced the whereabouts of the girl he was supposedly tracking. He had deduced the reason why Edward Balstrode had kept the fact of the girl's survival a secret. He just needed a few last pieces of evidence to confirm the facts he already knew to be true. With all these reasons combined, he called Mycroft to arrange his trip back to the UK. Sherlock was certain that a visit to the old home of the Mansons would prove the final piece of the puzzle to this mystery and he would finally be able to reach a definitive conclusion. He would be able to then give Mycroft the news he was sure the elder Holmes was desperately expecting from him.

Sherlock was sitting in the apartment temporarily assigned to him here in Glasgow. It felt good to be back even though he couldn't go and see the friends he was missing so badly. It was frustrating beyond believe to be so near as yet not be master of his own destiny enough to be able to visit them. He stood up and strode toward the window, his hands clasped behind his back. He slowly inhaled and exhaled the air allowing it to lighten his mind. It had snowed all night and the temperature was chilly. Sherlock stood there for what seemed like hours. Physically and mentally he felt more alert now since he had finally slept well the night before; he realized he had become too sleep deprived lately.

As he continued to glance outside the window of his luxury apartment, he let his mind drift back to some happy memories. Sherlock knew he could take a train from here and in a few hours he would be on the door step of the one person he wanted to see more than any other being in the world right now. He had never truly realized until this moment what a blessing coming home can prove to be. But he was still away from his true home. A home that was merely a couple of hundred miles away. He wanted his home… and it was Molly Hooper. There was something about her that he could never explain. He had known this petite, delicately beautiful and strong woman for many years now and whatever he felt for her has only gotten stronger with time. He was just not sure what exactly it was that he did feel for her. Sherlock inhaled sharply. It was an undeniable truth that every moment he spent in her presence in the last years, Molly had stirred those emotions that he had so neatly tucked and locked away in some corner of his mind. He was never able to understand why he found it so t easy to get emotional in front of her. He never did that for anyone. She made him admit things he would always feel hesitant to share with anyone else, even with John. Why had he found himself saying that  _he needed her_ when he was asking for her help in faking his death? And all those years later he could have made it simple and straight forward to her that ignoring her importance in the entire scenario caused Moriarty's plan to fail; but what did he say instead?

" _Moriarty slipped up, he made a mistake. Because the one person he thought didn't matter at all to me was the one person that mattered the most."_

He was never able to understand the affect, the hold she had on him, on his mind and on his life. Without even trying she had already broken every rule he had set in his life, uppermost of which had been the avoidance of  _indulgence_

If he managed to return to her where would their lives lead them next? He thought. If by any chance he could get back home he knew things could never go back to the way they used to be. It was both a blessing and a curse being Sherlock Holmes. He had chosen this life for himself; not that he minded being the world's only Consulting Detective, but the risks and the uncertainty of his life resulting from that work were, if he were to be honest, the reason he had held back. An image of Molly slapping him again and again right across his face made Sherlock wince. He was well aware of the fact that saying no goodbye to his pathologist must have hurt her, but he was trying to save her from all the pain that might have accompanied their farewell.

He resurfaced however when he heard a knock at the door. He rounded and walked to it, opening the door. He knew who he was expecting.

"Hello brother dear," said the elder Holmes becoming the first to greet. "Have I interrupted you from a deep thought?" Mycroft asked with a tight smile, standing at the doorstep, his hand tightly gripping his trademark umbrella.

Sherlock rolled his eyes, "Nice to see you too Mycroft," he supplied sarcastically to the brother whom he was meeting after days apart. He stepped aside to let him enter and closed the door. Sherlock followed as Mycroft made his way to the small living room.

"You really shouldn't dwell on her so much, Sherlock!" he said as he occupied a seat facing his little brother.

"It shouldn't concern you Mycroft what or who I may or may not think about," huffed his little detective brother to whom the idea of being deduced about regarding Molly was as annoying as the presence of the one deducing it.

"It may not have been brought to your notice, but I worry about you, Sherlock… constantly!" Mycroft said seriously, his hand tapping the arm of the couch he was sitting on. As much as he wanted to deny it, Sherlock knew he was his elder brother's pressure point. He looked away from him instead of replying.

"Distraction…" he continued. "In your line of work can prove very devastating." He looked at him with an unreadable expression. Sherlock swallowed as he turned his gaze back at him.

"Thank you for your advice Mycroft." He looked like a stubborn kid who hated to be told what he thinks he already knows very well. "Noted! Moving on now,"

"You do realize I'm having a closer look at all those  _friends_  of yours," he adjusted himself comfortably in the chair as he uttered the f word in his usual tone.

"Nothing very thrilling is happening in their lives." There was a truth in his statement, one way or another.

"Of course, how can it be thrilling? I'm away!" a self-satisfied reply came from his brother. Sherlock tilted his head at the very much amused brother who slightly smirked at his statement.

"What's so funny?" he begrudgingly shot a question at him.

"Nothing, brother mine! Moving on then," Mycroft suddenly shifted the course of their discussion as he decided not to take it any further, although he knew Sherlock wanted to hear more of them from him despite his pretense of indifference.

They discussed all the information Sherlock gathered over two long hours.

"She's here somewhere, I'm sure of it. Here in Scotland. There must be someone the Mansons confided in. A trusted family member or an old associate, a friend maybe. My money is on the latter. The government officer, your predecessor, Edward Balstrode, searched for the girl for two long years while eliminating the Xeroes. The top secret as it was, he was bound to let no one know that Mo-" he immediately rephrased, realizing his mind was indeed a bit distracted by his memories of home. "The Manson's girl still lived. The heart attack followed by sudden death of the man, however, unfortunately caused the secret to die with him before he could even file the fact."

He leaned back in his chair and placed his hands on the arms. "When you eliminate the impossible, whatever remains, however improbable, must be the truth," He finished with a satisfied smile on his face.

There was a brief moment of silence when Mycroft sat straight and unmoving. He opened his mouth, but was interrupted when the phone, in his pocket, rang.

"Excuse me, Sherlock." He rose from his seat already retiring back to his usual pose. Sherlock responded only with a raised eyebrow, his hands glued together under his chin.

Mycroft marched away from Sherlock as he retrieved the device. A visible change of expression occurred on his face as soon as he looked at the phone.

"What?" Sherlock snapped his head in Mycroft's direction as he heard distress in his brother's voice coming from another corner of the room. Barely a minute later, he re-entered and turned on the television. Sherlock sat there raising an eyebrow at this sudden change of circumstance and patiently waited to see what exactly had made Mycroft so perturbed. He might have a theory or two. As the screen turned on, there were rolling reports of a blast near the Mitchell library on all the news channels.

* * *

The sudden shake made Molly drop all her belongings as she held onto a bookshelf for support. Her worst fears, however, started to surface as she heard a commotion outside the library and the noises of screams and yells. Bracing herself, she quickly exited the library and her eyes doubled in size with horror as she joined the crowd. Some hundred meters away, a building that was standing mere moments ago was now on the ground. The debris of the blasted structure was flying in every direction and dust made the air so thick. Molly struggled to breathe as she witnessed the scene before her. Within minutes, several ambulances and police cars reached them. Luckily not many people were present in the building since it was only ten in the morning. Most of the people were at work.

"Wait, I'm a doctor, let me help, please, let me through." Molly offered as one of the approaching police officers tried to hinder her way. No matter how bad her life was, there was one thing that could never change; her being the one who saves people's lives, one way or another. She was very loyal to her profession no matter what the circumstances were. She approached a little girl no more than nine years old, petrified by the catastrophe. She had a bleeding leg and several injuries on both forearms and her forehead.

"It's okay, you're gonna be alright." The girl backed away as she saw a total stranger approaching her, obviously she was in shock.

"I'm a doctor," she softly told her. At this the girl relaxed her body a little. "Let me see!"

Molly drew closer to examine her leg which was bleeding vigorously; she needed to apply some pressure. Molly picked up some gauze from the first aid box supplied to her by one of the police officers and trying to be as gentle as she could, she pressed it against the wound. As soon as she did, the girl let out a cry of pain making Molly almost jump. She looked at her with a horrified expression, but speedily controlled herself.

"Shh.. it's okay now, it's almost done. Look at me!" She hushed her so very kindly touching her shoulder with one hand whilst the other was busy at her leg. She smiled faintly as she looked at her and continued to attend to her.

"That's it. I'll just bandage that for you." She wrapped a bandage around the wound that was now clotted enough to stop bleeding until treated appropriately in a hospital. She felt her patient shiver under her hands as the wind struck her. She looked up from her work.

"Here." She removed her long scarf from round her neck. "This might keep you warm for the time being," and Molly looped it around her little neck.

She saw her smiling brightly for an instant despite her injuries, and the next second Molly was squeezed into a small hug. It was awkward as Molly sat there, her hands dropped down at her sides but then she slowly brought them up and briefly stroked the back of her little patient.

"Thank you, you are very nice doctor," she muttered. Molly's heart twisted. He was right after all. He had always been right. She slightly jerked her head and slowly pushed away from the small child's embrace, the first she'd had in weeks. Uncertainty came flooding into Molly's mind at this unforeseen interaction. For the first time, she wasn't sure how to react to this. Just then two men arrived with a stretcher and carefully picked up the injured girl. Soon a team of paramedics joined in and they took it from there.

Molly continued to help; providing first aid to three or four more injuries, but that was all. When she was finished it was almost afternoon and she decided to return back home. In all this hustle she had almost forgotten about the address she had jotted down from the address book. She rummaged through her bag and took a little piece of paper out. She needed to prepare herself for the visit she will be carrying out the next day. She needed to be strong since she didn't know what she might expect emotionally from a visit back to her parent's home..her real old home to be exact.

* * *

"It's started," came Mycroft's announcement. Both the Holmes' stared at the television. "That's what we were afraid of." He said under his breath.

"We need to process things faster Sherlock."

Sherlock nodded in agreement as he saw his elder brother pacing once around the room before saying goodbye. It was obvious that he could not stay for further discussions when he had so many pressing issues to deal with.

After the departure of Mycroft, Sherlock continued to stare at the telly; he knew what was coming. The Xeroes were on the move now and when it comes to finding the Manson's girl, they were only a step behind Sherlock. His eyes began to lose focus as he watched the screen. Once again the cameras were panning round at the devastation wreaked on the building. He was just on the edge of his mind palace, about to enter when an image caught his attention. It seemed to almost focus his mind in a split second pulling him back into reality. His eyes narrowed as he pulled himself upright, his brain hardly daring to believe the image before his eyes… the impossible image of Molly there on the screen of the television. One moment he was confident and controlled and the next he was confused, irritated and lost.

"Could it be possible? He was bemused. "Did I..just see her or was it .. just a fragment of my imagination?" His mind seemed to hover not confident at all in what he may or may not have just seen.

"No." He bit his lower lip unconsciously. "Of course I didn't see Molly Hooper." One person cannot be in two places at the same time, and he was more than sure about where Molly was. She was back in London. As a matter of fact, if he wasn't wrong she would be taking her lunch break at Barts right now. He relaxed himself at the mental image of his pathologist, in her usual white coat, taking small sips of regular coffee. He couldn't help but to smile a little at this.

"I'm definitely going mad now." He placed his hands over his eyes as he leaned back on the sofa. This wasn't the first time he had hallucinated about Molly; it was increasingly becoming a routine, much to the horror of the detective. But never before had it seemed so real to him like it had right now. He soon recalled his recent conversation with his brother though.  
As hard as it was to admit, Mycroft was right. He couldn't afford a distraction in his line of work; at least not right now. He had been thinking about her lately and this was the result. He opened his eyes again as he retrieved his phone and start typing.

" **SEND THE CAR, I WANT TO VISIT THE SCENE BEFORE LEAVING," SH**

He waited for a minute or two before the reply came.

" **IF YOU WISH YOU CAN EXAMINE IT AT SIX PM IN THE EVENING, AFTER IT'S BEEN CLEARED." MH**

* * *

"No, I'm afraid I cannot help you in this Greg," Mike Stamford replied apologetically to the detective inspector sitting in front of him on the other side of the table. "Molly did talk to me before leaving, but I have absolutely no idea which relative she was referring to as being ill. I was always under the impression that she doesn't have many relatives. She never mentioned any, not in front of me at least." He paused as he took a sip of his coffee.

"I've known her for years now and we all know how very dedicated Molly is towards her work. So it was quite a shock for me when I received the resignation."

"You're not alone in that. It took me completely by surprise too. But do try to remember Mike. I've already told you the condition of her flat." The plump doctor frowned hard this time as he tried to remember the details of the event in question, thinking about any bit of chat that might prove useful to Lestrade.

"Well.. I'm sure I told you she fainted in the lab, out of fatigue. I managed to make her take a week off. Her ex fiancé..what was his name…?"

"Tom,"

"Yes, Tom… He was called and he took her home," he added, still frowning. "She called me a week later informing me about the ill relative. She wanted an extension of her leave. But I've told you that already."

"Yes of course you did," Lestrade asked impatiently, "But did she mention where exactly was she heading in Edinburgh?"

"Uh…no! But she did seem…." Mike looked at Lestrade as if looking for the right word to describe how Molly seemed.

"What?" he asked hopefully.

"…Disturbed," Mike finished his sentence.

Lestrade scratched his head. He seemed a bit let down by his reply.

"I'm sorry Greg, I know I'm not proving very useful," he apologized, clearly wanting to help but the poor doctor couldn't think of anything else.

"It's not your fault Mike!" Lestrade got up picking the autopsy file lying on the table. "Inform me if you recall anything, anything at all — no matter how small." He added as he shook Stamford's hand.

Lestrade was just about to exit Bart's when he heard someone calling his name from behind. Mike Stamford came running up to him slightly out of breath.

"Not sure if it will prove helpful or not to you Greg, but I forget to tell you about that American surgeon Dr Brian McPherson. He knew Molly's father…" Mike recounted.

* * *

It was well past his normal working hour when John returned home after visiting Molly's place. He was weary and disturbed. He had already informed Mary that he'd be late today, so he was sure she must be sleeping. He unlocked the door and silently entered, careful not to make noises that might wake up his pregnant wife. He wasn't particularly hungry, though he had some water and was just desperate for some sleep. So he changed into his pajamas and slipped under the blankets before soundly kissing Mary's forehead. As he did so, niggling thoughts regarding Molly occupied his mind. The whole situation was worrisome as hell. He pulled away from Mary, who was snoring softly and was sound asleep.

It wouldn't be proper to keep such disturbing news from her. She had, after all, grown close to Molly during their brief time together, and he was aware that the moment Lestrade mentioned the news of her disappearance Mary had been mentally working out ways to find out about it. John caressed her face gently and smiled at her, amazed once again that this gorgeous beauty had agreed to be his. He knew then that he couldn't and wouldn't keep anything from her. They were in this together. She would know as soon as she saw his face anyway and there was nothing he could do to stop the former spy and assassin from investigating about a missing friend alongside himself, an army doctor and the detective inspector. John chuckled at the thought and snuggled up with Mary.

"If only Sherlock were here, it would be so much easier to handle." John thought as he tried to sleep.


	8. The Lost Girl

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A quick thanks to those who specially PM me to ask for next update and all the kudos, comments and bookmarks. It made me REALLY happy. I hope you keep this up. Okay! Let's not make you wait anymore. Enjoy xx

The following day a call by John Watson, asking to arrange a meeting, took Tom by surprise. As he recalled, he wasn't particularly close to the Watsons and the only interactions they had with him were because of his ex fiancé. Why would John suddenly be asking to have a little get together? He thought in confusion. Of course there was only one way to find out.

Tom entered the café they had selected a little later than scheduled and instantly recognized John sitting there waiting for his arrival. Being his usual self he hesitated before approaching him. John stood up as he spotted Tom closing in and stretched out a hand which he hesitantly took as he approached.

"Hello! I apologize for keeping you waiting." Tom said as he let go of John's hand. "I needed to attend to something at the last moment."

"Oh hi!" John smiled as he gestured him to take a seat. "Yeah. No problem."

"How's the work?" he asked Tom, trying to keep the atmosphere light.

"Quite good actually." He replied simply.

There was a brief pause whilst John tried to decide when to broach the actual subject. Tom, however, spoke first.

"So?" He changed his tone into a business like way. "You said there was something we need to talk about. What's the matter?"

John cleared his throat. It was clear from his tone that he knew there could only be one topic on which they can possibly have a conversation. John's friend and Tom's ex fiancé – Molly.

"Well… actually it's about Molly."

John was positive he saw an abrupt change in Tom's facial expression at the mention of that name. Tom locked his fingers together.

"What about her?" he demanded. "You know that we've broken off our engagement."

"Yes.. well! Yes." John spoke carefully, trying not to sound very interfering. "I know you two are no longer together." he proceeded slowly. "And I'm not actually here to talk about that Tom."

He merely blinked at him. So John went on.

"It's about Molly." He repeated again. "We believe something happened to her." John didn't want it to come out that bad and he mentally kicked himself.

"..and by  _something_  you meant exactly what?"

John took a moment to respond.

" We.. don't.. know." he simply said which only confused Tom more. "Look, I know it's confusing, the whole business is very confusing and disturbing." John rubbed his temple.

"Disturbing?"

"Yes." he spoke immediately. "I managed to go and visit Molly's place yesterday, don't ask how. And what I saw there is the thing that's compelled me to have a talk with you. Her place.. is more than dishevelled; it was turned upside down. And by the looks of her room, I'd venture to say there was something Molly must not have been feeling good about. No, I'm sure there was something she was feeling bad about. And I'm hoping you can answer some of it."

The corner of Tom's lip twitched as looked at him a little uncomfortably. He tried to stay calm. He had been expecting something like this when John had called him for a meeting but of course he couldn't have refused for politeness sake. And now he was struggling to get out of it without giving anything away. Deep down he was ashamed of everything that had happened between him and Molly in the very same place John was referring to.

"Well, I don't think I'm the person who can answer those questions Dr. Watson. I haven't seen her in a long while. And by your words it's clear that you know we broke off contact over two months ago and I don't know what might have happened in… Molly's life since."

John frowned at this reply. It was getting hard not to press the issue of their break up.

He decided to push it. "What happened? Why did it end?" John folded his arms over his chest.

"Look.. I really appreciate your concern for your friend Dr. Watson. But I believe that's a bit personal and I don't think I should be questioned about it. We had…  _issues_  and they finally resulted in the end of our engagement. What happened to Molly afterwards isn't really my concern."

John glared daggers at the statement from this absurdly stupid man who had been set to marry one of the best women John had ever had the good fortune of knowing.

"Not your.. not exactly your concern?" He said with exasperation. "You were going to marry the woman." John ground teeth with rage.

This startled Tom who immediately got up. "Okay, it's probably best to leave it right there Dr. Watson."

This did it. John stood up too quick and poundered a fist on the table so hardly that it shook everything sitting on it. His nostrils flared with rage. His face flushed up with so much anger that Tom couldn't help but halt there in absolute stillness before taking some steps back. John watched him swallowing hard as Tom eyed the man in front of him with fear who seem likely to punch him in the face at any given moment.

"Let me make it clear to you what's happening here Tom. You are going to tell me everything you know about Molly Hooper, right here right now!" He pointed to the spot he was standing at. "Unless you wish to find yourself sitting the other side of a desk being investigated by none other than Scotland Yard itself for keeping information about a missing person that you only recently walked away from. I'm sure DI Lestrade would be more than willing to be involved. If I were you, I would be more careful of my position!"

Tom looked as if he was been shot at.

" You.. c..can't threaten me like that." He stuttered. "I have nothing to do with her going missing."

"Of course I can." The smile John gave him was so Sherlock-ish. "Now sit down and out with it."

Helplessly Tom dragged the chair forward as he occupied it; he looked slightly terrified by the intense gaze of the army doctor. John too sat down, not taking his eyes off of him for a moment as he crossed his arms over his chest. Never had he dreamt he would be facing such a situation walking into that little café; he felt as if he were suffocating.

Slowly Tom detailed to John everything about how and why Molly fainted in the Bart's lab. How the news of Arthur being not her father shattered her to pieces and how she had looked to him for support and love. How he had selfishly tried to belittle the fact and shook the grounds of trust that Molly Hooper had placed in him which ultimately led to them breaking up. With every word escaping Tom's mouth, John's expression took a new turn. By the end of his story John sat there watching him with his mouth shut tight and his limbs knotted. Tom finally looked at him when he'd finished.

"I'm sorry, Dr. Watson," he said with a small voice. "I know I should have tried to get to know her a bit more than that and what her father meant to her."

John couldn't stand sitting there watching anymore in the company of that man, whilst seething with rage. He exhaled sharply as he tried to remain calm. So  _this_  is what happened to their Molly. Sherlock wasn't the only reason she looked so devastated.  _She'd needed them_ … her friends. How could they not have seen that? John covered his face with both hands for a brief moment before standing up straight, taking his leave.

"Dr. Watson…" Tom spoke up. "Please. Understand. I'm ashamed of what I did."

John gave him a sarcastic laugh.

"You are a ridiculous man." He hissed at him. "And I'm glad Molly kicked your arse out of her life. You never deserved her anyway and your actions tonight have made it screamingly clear. You don't deserve a woman like Molly. Pray she's not in danger of any sorts, where ever she is right now. Or else we all will have more than one thing to regret all our lives."

And then he left the place leaving nothing but regret for Tom to keep him company.

* * *

The cab stopped right at the corner of a wide street. Shouldering her bag, Molly stepped out, holding the opened door of cab with one hand, she briefly looked around. She closed the door with a thud, leaving the cab behind as she took some small steps forward. Molly let out a deep shaky breath causing a puff of air to come out of her mouth. She was wearing a white woollen cap, her hair not in usual ponytail; instead she had let it fall down free, and a green coat to cover her body from the cold that was creeping in this early in the day. Dressed in the best way to avoid the cold she shoved her gloved hands in her pockets and started walking down the road towards her destination. After five minutes walk Molly turned off the main road and her eyes caught sight of the house she was there for. Molly could tell that was it because it was the only building standing there with every sign of fire damage, a wrecked huge mansion with blacked walls. Molly stood there, eyes glued to the house, breath contorted and feet rooted to the ground. She wasn't daring to move. The house was large and by the looks of it would once have been handsome. It surprised her that the place hadn't been demolished or rebuilt. Several minutes passed before she was finally able to move her legs forward.

"This is what you are here to see, keep it calm. Keep yourself calm.." Molly repeated. She needed to remind herself. But how can she be calm when she was finally there, finally seeing the place where she must have spent her early years; with the people who brought her to life; her parents Adam and Emilie. She was standing at the place where she had lost everything — at the place that would have been her home if the circumstances had been different. She would have been a Manson not a Hooper. The lump was again forming inside her throat against her will. She had been resolute and stern in all the weeks gone by but at this moment all her resolution was starting to collapse; betraying her just when she needed it most.

Molly clenched her fists inside her pockets firmly and walked forward, content to know that her legs were still able to carry her; she hadn't been sure a moment before. As she approached the house, a tear finally found its way out. She let it slide over her face as she neared to get a better view of the house. The hot liquid soon went cold on her cheeks, making her shiver with cold. She rubbed off the wetness immediately. It would seem odd to any onlookers passing by to see a woman crying over a long abandoned fire damaged mansion. She didn't want to draw any unwanted attention to herself. Molly decided to explore a little further as stood on the doorstep of this wrecked house and gave the door a small push. Her brows knitted as she felt the door stay closed. That was odd.

It didn't open and seemed to be jammed a little. She moved towards one of the broken windows and just as she was about to peer through it, a shout from behind startled her, making her almost jump. She heard the shouting increasing as she watched an elderly figure approaching. She could see he was an old man by the slight shuffle and stoop in his walk.

"What do you think you are doing?" She heard him saying when he was within earshot. She struggled to make something up before wondering why she even needed to answer this man at all?

"What is it?"

"Who are you?"

"What do you want?" he bombarded her with questions as he approached; covering the little remaining distance between them.

"Why are you poking inside my house?" He went on inquiring, giving Molly little to no chance to speak.

"I.. uh.." Molly tried to answer as he examined her from head to toe.

"Wait a minute." Her brows frowned. "What do you mean  _your house_?" she said suddenly as she shot a question at him instead. It was out of the norm for someone to live in a house like that; which lead her to believe that this strange old man who appeared out of nowhere must be lying to her or something.

"I live in this house, missy!" he replied rather impatiently. "Now, what is your business here?"

He pointed the small cane, he was holding in his hands, at her in a funny threatening way, clearly trying to give Molly an indication of warning. May be he was thinking she was a danger of some sort, peering through the house for some grave reason.

Molly stepped back just a little but showed no signs of discouragement. "I'm… a student."

He eyed her suspiciously. "I'm working on a thesis. It's covering incidents relating to fire tragedies."

"Tragedies?" He repeated.

"Yes." Molly replied firmly. But then something even better hit her mind. "And I'm here to conduct my research about the tragedy that happened here." She indicated to the house. "With the Mansons."

He lowered his cane a bit and considered this for a moment. Something about his expression was suggesting to Molly that he wasn't buying that at all. He stepped a little closer to have a better view and peered at her through his massive spectacles. As soon as he did so, Molly felt a hint of surprise in his old wrinkled face.

"What are you called?" He almost whispered.

"Becky." she breathed out giving the first name to jump inside her head. "Becky Carter."

".. Becky.." he muttered to himself. As he walked past her, Molly saw him mumbling something about imagining things and old age. He fumbled for a moment with the creaking door as he continued to mutter indiscreetly. She stood there as he went past her.

"Well come on then." He shouted from inside without reappearing at the door. "I'm too old to stay outside in the cold."

She hadn't been expecting a welcome from his behavior a few moments ago. Molly hesitated for a moment, thinking about whether it was a good idea? But he was an old person and there was nothing here for her to worry about. Somehow her instincts were telling her the same. Besides, she couldn't stand out there, freezing to death in the cold. So she followed him. She naturally turned her head around to see as she found herself stepping into a huge marbled entrance hall. It must once have been gorgeous by the looks of it. A broken Chandelier was hanging between the railed staircases built on either side up to the upper floor. But of course, like everything else, it was too fire damaged. Almost all of the surroundings showed a high degree of damage. Molly couldn't help but wonder how she had managed to survive such a catastrophe. She was jolted back, however, by the sounds of his cane hitting the floor every time the man walking in front of her took a step. The marble seemed to magnify every sound that the people walking on it were making. The elderly man stopped in front of a room leading off from the far corner and pushed open the door with his cane. As Molly followed, her eyes glistered as they landed on the interior of the room she was in.

"Oh," she said unconsciously. Somehow this part of the house was still intact and undamaged and then she remembered the article which said that the house bore seventy percent damage. This must be a bit of that undamaged part. Why hadn't she given it a thought before? It made sense to Molly that this old man was indeed living here. Which lead her to next question; why was he living there?

He looked at her briefly before putting his things down on the table of his small room. "We were lucky." He replied simply to her earlier statement.

Molly took the chair he offered her. She tried to keep all her emotions at bay. It wasn't a hard task anyway for her now. Well not as hard as it once used to be.

"I'm sorry, but who are you?" She babbled out but quickly recomposed her sentence before allowing him to reply. "I mean you're living here as you put earlier. Are you a care taker of some sort?"  _oh come on a caretaker of what exactly? She thought._

He analysed her face before saying anything. Finally he spoke.

"This is the house of Lord Albert Manson." he sighed before going on. "My master."

Molly looked at him wide eyed. The hair at her back of her neck raised and she knew it had nothing to do with the cold. This may be the perfect moment to be thankful for all the research, making up for the weeks of shutting herself up in the genealogy section. She was dumbstruck by the connection that this man had with her family.

"Lord Albert Manson." She swallowed hard before speaking. "Father of Adam Scott Manson?"

"Oh yes, haven't you done any research before coming here?" The cranky old man asked her.

"I have." She hurriedly replied. "I was just seeking confirmation." She tried to give him a gentle smile of apology. This did the trick as she felt him regaining his relaxed composure. There was a long pause as she sat there waiting for him to say anything between taking sips of the tea he had offered. Suddenly he lowered his own cup from his mouth with slightly trembling hands and looked at her.

"My family served The Mansons ever since I was a little boy." Molly's heart jumped into her throat when out of blue the elderly man stated. "I grew up with Master Albert."

Molly gripped her mug ever so firmly as she stared at the man who seemed just at the edge of telling her the things she had been so desperately searching for weeks now.

"It was such an honor for a servant like me to be growing up alongside Master Albert. He had a high regard for me. Noble man he was, master Albert, oh such a wise noble man." He let out a sigh. The man appeared to be taking a flight back into his past as he absentmindedly spoke with unfocused eyes.

"Master Albert was so broken after the death of my mistress. His health fell every day thereafter and eventually he trusted me with the responsibility of his only son; Master Adam. Such a clever boy little master Adam was. He made The Mansons proud. He made my master proud with his brilliant mind." He smiled as tears started forming in his wrinkled eyes.

"Master Albert never stopped him from living his dreams and Master Adam became one of the best mathematicians this country had ever seen." He puffed his chest out with pride. Molly's throat was drying with each passing second.

"But my master wasn't fortunate enough to witness all of his son's glory. One day..when I went upstairs with his breakfast..he was.. was no more." A tear started falling down his face. "I wish he hadn't made me vow not to speak of his illness to master Adam." He sniffed.

"Of course, Master Adam was abroad when Master Albert died in this very house. I can never forget that day. It seemed he would never smile again. Calling Mister Hooper also did very little to help though I had thought he could cheer him up a bit." He spoke the last line more to himself than to Molly.

 _Mister Hooper…_  the words rumbled like an earthquake through Molly's mind. She felt like her mind just blew away.

"Arthur Hooper?" She wasn't surprised by the tremor in her voice.

"Yes, Mister Hooper was practicing medicine in America and only he knew how to handle Master Adam. Funny boy Mister Hooper was. He used to trick Master Adam when they were kids."

Molly let out a gasp. They had known each other since their childhood… She wasn't sure what more she was going to hear today and how much of it she could bare without giving herself away.

"The two of them always used to give me a fright with their little experiments." He added as more tears flowed down his face.

"Time had healed the gap in his heart when Master Adam met Mistress Emilie. He was so happy. She made him so happy. Bright and kind, Mistress Emilie was a perfect match for Master Adam. She loved and respected me like her own father. Joy and happiness once again returned to the house of my master when they started living here. Mistress Emilie was loved so much by Mister Hooper."

Neither of them were looking at each other anymore. Molly just couldn't look at him. She couldn't stop them now.. the tears in her eyes and the lump inside her throat. So she didn't even try.

"And then, she came in our lives. The little fairy; Master Adam's first child – Molly. And she completed the family. It felt to me that I had fulfilled my promise I made to Master Albert of taking good care of Master Adam's well being."

The old man's face was now soaked with tears and his breaths were rasped with emotions. He hadn't talk about all this for such a long time and suddenly being able to recall his life's entire journey to a stranger who was in her words there only to talk about the fire incident didn't feel strange to him. Molly wasn't even daring to interrupt him. So she let him carry on with his tale as she was sure he had more to share and she was ready to take in every word that escaped his mouth.

"Days passed by, and Master Adam and Mistress Emilie were working hard to build something, I didn't quite know what that was but it was important; Master Adam said it would prove life saving to hundreds of people. I never saw them wear themselves out so much as they did then. It seemed a matter of life and death. But they came out of it as I knew they would. Miss Molly was only three years old then."

"And then, this horrible fire took everything from me." He almost shrieked. "Everything that I held most dear in my life. My masters – m..my masters were dead before I could save them." He was shaking from head to toe. And Molly knew nothing to soothe him since she was also in exactly the same state.

" I..i..j..j..just wish I had been there for them all that night. All dead.. all gone. I failed to keep my promise. I failed!"

There was a long pause, a bizarre silence when both of them sat there, Molly's face damp with tears. The only sound was the sharp raspy breaths of the elderly man. The light surrounding them was getting dark. Then between his heavy breaths he looked up at Molly through his stained glasses. Something in his expressions changed.

"Miss Molly would have been thirty five if she were alive today." He kept looking at her as tears continued to flow. What he said next made Molly gasp.

"It's strange. Your face reminded me of Mistress Emilie."

That did it. Molly let out a long held sob.

"I know you are not a student," he simply said. "But you're finding something."

Molly nodded as she rubbed her face with her hands.

"Yes." She swallowed very hard to let out this single little word. Molly stood up, surprised that her legs were still working. She walked towards him and knelt before him.

He examined her face more closely now and as he did his eyes grew wide as they peered into her brown ones.

"You're not called Becky, are you?" He looked stunned by the resemblance now that she was sitting so close. Molly shook her head, her face reddened by pain.

"Who are you?" He whispered. Molly tried to swallow the lump inside her throat that wasn't letting her speak. Now was the time to give the truth to this man, the one who already felt like family to Molly even in this briefest of time together. He was the man who had raised her father, witnessed her adoptive father growing up, spent an age with her mother and watched her bring Molly into life.

"I..i'm just  _a .. lost girl_.. looking f..for my identity. My.." She struggled to speak."My nam..."

What happened next was barely comprehended by Molly as she froze in mid sentence. She let out a loud shriek as a great spurt of blood spilled across her face as he dropped dead right in front of her. A bullet had gone right through his heart and he joined his beloved family that he was missing so desperately.

"No..NOO!" She screamed as her blurry eyes landed on a bullet hole punched through the window. She cried so hard as she leaned over the dead body of the old man she was just about to tell her truth too. Her head was spinning violently. How had this happened? She took his pulse with terribly trembling hands. He was no more. Molly placed a hand on his wound as she cried bitterly.

"Shame." Out of the silence came a voice from the doorway. "That was meant for you." Molly sat there as she slowly looked up at the intruder.

"But bless him." A tall man appeared behind the darkness. "He just saved your life." He looked down at her. "But he just lost his."

Molly's face contorted with seething rage at his statement but her eyes landed on the gun he was holding. She immediately back away from the dead man and grabbed her bag.

"Why did you kill him?" she yelled, somehow the shock gave her the strength to speak. "Who are you?"

"Ah..but the real question my love.." He stepped inside the room so now Molly could see him. "..is who are you?"

A dark and huge man looked down at Molly. She couldn't make out much of him in the dark except for the monstrous smile plastered on his ugly face giving Molly shivers down her spine.

He carried on without waiting for her reply. "Look at you.  _Our little Manson_ , all grown up now. Ready to take us down again." He sneered in a singsong way. "Do you know how much trouble you gave us finding you?" He playfully pointed the gun at her.

Finding her..? Why? Who was he? She had already been through so much today and now it was only likely to get worse. As if emotional upheaval wasn't enough for her already.

"Now, time to take a sleep then." The Xero smiled at her victoriously. "I'm sure we beat them this time."

There was a loud clatter as something hard hit the Xero over the head. Molly had hit him hard with the cane she had found on the floor in the dark. This earned her a few moments to flee out of room but to her dismay the man soon grabbed her before she was even half way across the hall. He gripped her tight around her waist as he twisted her wrists. Molly let out a yelp of pain as she struggled to free herself but he was so strong. He let her go as he slapped her hard across the face, knocking her down. He brutally grabbed her now bleeding mouth.

"No getting away this time." He hissed. But the next moment he was bending over gasping as Molly kicked him in his belly. She had mere seconds and she responded by withdrawing Arthur's gun out of her bag and firing blindly as she ran out of the house. The man followed. The darkness of the evening did not hesitate his trained hands as he took the aim… and fired.

But someone else's hands grabbed him from behind making his aiming hand shoot into the sky. Molly staggered to her feet at the sound. She was bleeding from several scratches on her body and breathing heavily. The world around her was spinning and she was hanging somewhere between consciousnesses and unconsciousness. In that brief moment, she somehow got up before tripping twice. Her blood soaked face was glowing harshly in the street light when an intense shudder made her fall on her face. Her body was grown so very weak and her mind was not cooperating. She momentarily looked back in the distance not far from where she was, two figures were fighting hard. The taller one, may be her attacker was on the ground. Or maybe the other one was her attacker, she wasn't sure. She covered her face with one hand from the light that was making her wince with pain. But then Molly saw his head snapping in her direction and horror slipped down through her body.

If being struck by a lightning bolt didn't feel like this, Sherlock wasn't sure what else did.

" _Nothing very thrilling is happening in their lives."_

Mycroft's words buzzed inside his head. He forgot to breath as he turned his head towards the woman who had fallen not too far from where he was.

"Molly." He whispered; ripples of fear generating through his entire body. His mind felt paralyzed by what he had just witnessed; wheels turned inside his head. Facts.. all of them.. everything he had worked for.. swimming and dancing in front of his eyes. His momentary distraction proving very disadvantageous as the next moment he was the one on the ground being punched brutally by the Xero.

With great difficulty he saw her lift herself up, knowing that she merely has moments, and retrieve the gun from the ground. Molly ran away as fast as her legs could take her.

" _I said focus."_  A slap echoed in his mind as he became conscious that he no longer had the upper hand. He skillfully returned to his earlier position as he punched him once, twice and thrice across the face, regaining it. He breathed intensely as he looked around. She wasn't there anymore.

Sherlock yelled like a crazy at him grabbing him by the collar. "Why were you after her?"

"It seems this time you lost the hide and seek game." The Xero smiled through his broken bleeding teeth. "We found her first."

" _No, this cannot be."_ Sherlock's mind was running hundred miles per second.


	9. Unexpected Meet

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Big fat hugs to my Beta MrsMCrieff who tries to bring the sense in my sentences. :D Enjoy xx

Sherlock was still bending over him, hands gripped tight around his collar. The mild injuries the Xero had received at his hands were enough for him to lay collapsed on the ground. Sherlock, however, was still too occupied by thoughts of Molly to pay any attention to the injuries this man had done to his own body.

"Always a step ahead Mr. Holmes." A newcomer greeted Sherlock. He didn't look up as he knew who he was expecting. Bradford the British double agent looked down at the Xero.

"It seems Davies was not the hole in our ranks. Clever. You fooled us." The Xero rumbled through his broken teeth.

"Just playing along, Cobb. Though now you too will be sharing Davies fate." Bradford pointed the gun at him. Cobb, the Xero, just laughed at his statement.

"I can assure you Kelvin." He sneered; calling Bradford by his supposed name. "I will prove to be the least of your concerns. You have more pressing issues to deal with."

Sherlock who had been seemingly uninterested in their talk stood abruptly.

"Mr. Holmes?" Bradford questioned him, looking bemused. "Are you alright sir?" He asked as many expressions passed over the consulting detective's face.

Leaving them both behind, he suddenly just started running down the street.

"Mr. Holmes!" he heard him yell but Sherlock didn't bother to stop.

Within seconds, he found himself standing on the main road. He rounded like a gyroscope, eyes scanning his surroundings, his coat dancing along his calves as he did so but there was no sign of the person he sought. There were very few people about due to the bad weather. Sherlock rotated again on his spot when finally he was forced to realise that he was indeed late. He shut his eyes in disappointment with his fists clenched at his side. Rage streamed through his body as his mind replayed the entire thing inside his brain. The rage of being reliably misinformed, the rage of being ridiculously ignorant. Why hadn't  _he_  informed him that she was not in London?  _He..oh yes…_

Sherlock pulled out his phone and quickly dialled the number. Never before had he been so impatient in his life as he was now. He wasn't picking up the damn phone which further aggravated his mood.

"What is it Sherlock?" Mycroft hissed almost in a whisper as he answered his phone after the third ring. "Surely you know how busy i…"

" _WHERE IS SHE?"_  Sherlock cut down the conversation into three simple words. Mycroft sat up straight at the question gaping. Sherlock could sense it over the phone.

"MYCROFT!" He heard his younger brother yell and if he wasn't mistaken, which he wasn't, Sherlock was shaking.

Mycroft let out a sigh.  _Perfect! Must this have to be now?_  He thought. "Not in London." He too simplified it into three words.

There was a brief moment of silence as Sherlock painfully swallowed those words. "How long?"

He sighed. "Almost three months."

It took him a while to respond to this as he stood there jaw shut tight and body frozen. His knuckles were blood stained. Ultimately, it was Mycroft whose voice brought him back.

"I'm in a very important meeting with the Prime Minister Sherlock. We will talk about it later."

And before Sherlock could open his mouth again, Mycroft hung up. Mere seconds pass by when his phone vibrated again. Sherlock's eyes gleamed very briefly as he read the text. He flagged down a nearby cab and as he hopped in, his only thoughts were to get there before her as fast as he could.

* * *

Molly stirred her head as she was half lying on the back seat of the cab, which had thankfully appeared when she had needed it most.

"You okay back there ma'am?" The cabbie asked her for the second time.

"Drive… fast." He heard her saying faintly. He shook his head, this woman was very strange. She was definitely not in a good condition when he had picked her up and at first sight he strongly believed she'd be wanting to be taken to a hospital. But despite what he had hoped for, she had instead given him an address of a street and only shouted at him to drive faster. And so he did.

She was silently crying over the loss of yet another person, probably the last one relating her family. Why did he kill him? Who was that man? That brutal savage, who had killed him in cold blood and wanted to kill her as well. She winced with pain and cried even more bitterly when a realization dawned on her. She didn't even know his name. This man who had somehow saved her life and she didn't even know what he was called. For the first time in weeks, Molly wished that the bullet had taken her instead; would have finished her off and freed her from all this pain and misery. If she had nothing to live for then why was she living? She wondered how she hasn't gone mad by now?

* * *

"Yes Sir, I found him." Bradford answered attentively as he looked at the men around him swiftly taking care of all the evidence and the dead body.

"No Sir. Mr. Holmes junior was here when I arrived. He, however, looked really… disturbed. He just disappeared, ran off. Absolutely, I will take care of the dead body as well Sir. I'm bringing Codd to the headquarters."

* * *

The cab's wheels skated just at the end of the street and Sherlock hurriedly exited out. He started walking brusquely towards the small house standing between the larger ones. He stared up to the window of the room on the top floor as he neared the house. It clearly wouldn't be wise to climb through it, so he decided to try other options. Minutes later he found himself stepping inside the house, through the backdoor, after picking the lock easily. He turned on his flashlight, contented that he had made there first. As much as he wanted Molly to arrive there, and he was sure she would only be a matter of moments, he also wanted to understand the severity of the situation he would he dealing with. He knew that there was truth in The Xero's words; he didn't doubt it for a second, since his own research had led him there as well, but he had to be sure how much of it Molly knew. What were his chances?

Sherlock looked around as he entered a small sitting room. There wasn't anything unusual about it so he walked forward in his exploration towards the room directly in front of him. Creaking the door open, he entered Arthur's room. The first thing he caught sight of was obviously a bed; very recently slept in judging by its creases. His gazed followed the flash light over a wardrobe with doors ajar and shelves full of books.

He walked deep into the room as he stood facing the picture sitting on the shelf next to the books. Not more than seventeen years old; prettier and happier than he had ever seen her in his life, Molly was hugging a man around his neck – Arthur Hooper. He took it from the shelf as he observed it closely under his flashlight. She was so beautiful; he couldn't help but smile at this previously unrevealed part of Molly's life when she was a carefree and loved daughter. He placed it back where it belonged as he made his way back out of the room. Sherlock approached the kitchen. A quick glance was all he needed to have a guess at what the diet of the resident of the house was having. There were several unwashed coffee mugs lying inside the basin and an unfinished sandwich at the small kitchen table. Not good, not good at all. The signs were all bad so far. How would he handle it?

Guiding himself up the stairs, Sherlock landed at the doorstep of the only room on the upper storey. Holding onto the flashlight in his gloved hand, his other one very slowly rotated the knob as he opened the door. A familiar scent greeted his senses no sooner than he stepped into the room. The room of his pathologist; his friend. He couldn't help but to inhale that aroma so slowly. He would recognize it anywhere, the fragrance possessed only by Molly. He decided not to turn on the light in case it aroused the suspicion of the person who would be here any moment. Much to Sherlock's relief as he took small cautious steps in the light of the torch he spotted a lamp sitting on the small bedside table. As he stepped forward to switch it on, something crunched beneath his foot, a broken cup in pieces. Cursing under his breath he turned on the lamp. Sure enough it was an unfortunate cup now lay broken in his path. It must've been half filled with yet another unfinished coffee which was now spilled along the floor. His hawk like eyes swept the room which was only dimly lit by the lamp. Sherlock must admit she had surprised him far more than he had ever imagined.

The detective was flabbergasted as he stood in a corner of the room whose floor was covered with newspapers - several of them, books scattered all around; some of them lying half opened whilst others were stacked up in small piles. The bed covers were all messy and bore a very un-welcomed look. Clearly she wasn't sleeping in her own bed. Sherlock leant on one knee, flipping his coat aside, and picked up the one newspaper that had caught his attention more than any other thing in the room. Most likely because he had seen it so many times before in his own case file. The front page had an article titled "Devastating Fire Killed The Mansons." Sherlock felt a pang inside his stomach as he closed his eyes in anticipation of what this probably meant.

As his eyes drifted from one paper to another gathering a quick view of all the articles, he saw that most consisted of genealogy, mathematics and educational achievements. She knew all this? How long she had known? Judging by the scene before him and the amount of research that had obviously been done he couldn't help but compliment her. As he stood again he rounded and silently sat on the bed facing the writing desk.

Sherlock deeply inhaled through his nose – he was afraid of what was coming. Yes, afraid was the right word! She wouldn't be easy to convince. He was very much sure of this point she won't even want to see him. Suddenly his eyes caught something and he found himself reaching out for a small piece of paper dropped on the desk. Raising from the bed and occupying the seat near the table he carefully opened the carefully taped up old piece of paper and started reading it under the lamp light.

_**...are ensuring that the highest manner of every security is provided to us but we know the risks. It's our responsibility. So please visit us as soon as you can. We'll be waiting. Your arrival will definitely lift Adam up.** _

_**Love** _

_**Emilie** _

His mind silently screamed at him when he reached the end of the letter. For many seconds he sat there, holding it in his unnerved fingers, imagining the brown eyes shedding God knows how many tears over this little piece of paper. Oh how much she had been suffering and he wasn't even aware of it simply because he was too busy? His eyes closed with unshed tears and his heart seemingly stopped for a few seconds. How would he even speak to her? And then he heard it, a distinct hum of a cab engine approaching; he got straight up.

* * *

Molly's head rested weakly on the front door as she unlocked it with her now nearly numb and trembling fingers. Holding the edge of the door firmly for support, she stepped inside. Her legs made her collapse in the hallway as she closed the main door behind her, her hand still hanging over the knob. She let out a pained breath as she closed her eyes. She knew she wasn't safe here but Molly had nowhere else to go and if she's gonna die, Molly preferred it to be here – in her home, the only thing left to her now.

Her blurring eyes opened and her hand immediately went for the gun as she caught a glimpse of the opened door of Arthur's room right in front of her. Knowing that she has little experience with the gun didn't stop her as she held it tight. Holding the wall she got up with great difficulty, her wounds throbbing with pain, as she took careful steps and entered the sitting room. Breathing very faintly, Molly scrutinized the darkened room with the gun held high.

"Surely you need more practice with toys like these." Molly's already strangled breathe contorted in her throat as she stared at the dark figure; speaking in that deep voice she had thought she had forgotten so long ago. The shock of that voice made her lower her gun just a little. There was a soft click and the light came flooding inside the small place making Molly's pupils hurt so much that she had to cover her face against this new change.

"Just giving it a go." She mumbled feebly to herself as she lowered her hand from her face making Sherlock internally gasp. There was an intense silence between them as the gun slipped out of her hands and Molly stared at him with an unreadable expression. Sherlock on the other hand wasn't too hard to read at all. His eyes were glued to her blood soaked face, her bleeding mouth, a huge blood stain on the elbow of her coat and the immense trembling of her small body that she was deliberately trying to stop. A stream of blood dripping down her fingers, gashes at her face and God knows what else under her clothes made his heart jump to his throat and his skin crawl. If those were only the external damages, he was almost scared to think about the internal ones. Never in the long period of his association with Molly, had he seen her so injured both physically and mentally.

"Molly.." His voice came hoarsely as he whispered her name. Just like he had once done in the darkened lab at Barts.

He watched her letting out a strained and painful breath when she parted her lips to force out the words.

" _What..are you... doing here?"_

he heard her hissing without looking up at him. He merely blinked at this, for the first time in his life Sherlock Holmes was short of words.

"Molly…" he called out her name again but this time a little louder.

"This isn't a good time to argue. Please." He begged her. "I know you're angry with  _me_.. I know you have questions. And you will get the answers. But please, now isn't a perfect time for it." She looked like a child who was afraid of darkness.

Sherlock took a step closer to her very carefully.  _"Let me help you."_

She looked up at him just for the briefest moment. "I don't need  _anyone's_  help." Her voice was choked with emotions. "I don't want it." Struggling to say it firmly she repeated it stubbornly. But her condition was screamingly begging to differ. Her vision was losing focus with each passing moment and her body going numb with pain, weakness and her tiresome emotions. Never had she wanted to stand on her feet like she was right now – the need to show that she could still manage without any external help and that she could stand her ground. She was so determined to show him that she could survive without the great Sherlock Holmes! Like she had in all the weeks gone by; no matter what her physical and emotional state might be! Wasn't she still around? Wasn't it enough of a proof that she needed no one?

And Sherlock wasn't unaware of the fact. God, the damage was done.

"Molly…" He took two more cautious steps forward. "You need immediate medical attention." When she held a hand out between them.

"Didn't I.. just .. made it clear?" She was now breathing hard. "I don't need anythi…."

Sherlock saw her grip loosening on the railing of the stairs that she had been holding onto for support. In a beat, he covered the distance between them and caught her just at the right moment. His own arm secured around her waist as she landed in his arms with the other tightly gripping her face.

"Molly." Sherlock wasn't at all surprised by the tremor in his voice as he knelt on the floor with Molly in his arms. "Oh.. Molly." he whispered in agony.

"What have I done?" He leant down as he wiped the fresh blood leaking from the corner of her delicate mouth. He took her pulse, it was very elevated as he had deduced. Her entire body was burning with fever. Not delaying a second Sherlock lifted her up, in his arms, from the floor, not at all surprised how weightless she seemed and carried her upstairs to her own room instead of Arthur's. Shouldering opening the door he walked into the lamp lit room and very gently lowered her down onto her bed. He hurriedly switched off the lamp and turned on the lights instead.

"Molly!" leaning over he called her name again, gently patting her face. She was shivering badly due to her fever. He yanked the scarf off his neck and pressed one edge against her bleeding mouth. He curled his hand behind her neck and firmly lifted her up into the sitting position, making her lean against his body as he got rid of her coat. He pulled her right sleeve up and as he did so, his eyes landed at a badly scratched wound bleeding vigorously all the way down her hand. There were nail scratches on her left forearm and several punctured marks at her neck. Very slowly he lowered her back down and stretched the blanket over covering her. He stood up, rounding about the room to find something helpful to nurse her injuries. He dashed downstairs and rummaged through the kitchen cabinets. To his luck, he found a first aid box in one of the lower cabinets. It might be enough to temporarily stop her bleeding.

Making her blood loss stop was his first priority since her body was already suffering ASD, it wasn't hard to deduce anyways from the pale eyes, dark circles and the excessive coffee drinking, her body could not afford anymore weakness resulted by blood loss. Grabbing the extra blanket from Arthur's room he rushed back upstairs. Sherlock threw the blanket over her. His one hand busy at her elbow and the other at her mouth as he pressed a iodine dipped gauze to her lip. After five minutes or less, to his delight, her bleeding stopped. He cleaned the blood all the way down to her arm and bandaged her elbow , carefully rested it under the extra soft pillow he dragged from the other side of bed before busying himself at her neck. As he leaned forward to attend to her neck his eyes fluttered shut for the tiniest moment as the jasmine scent hit his nose. He felt like he was suspended in mid-air over her for what seemed like minutes before his senses started working again. Such a proximity to Molly was very new to Sherlock who had never been this close to her ever. It was a shame that it had to be this way when she was unconscious and unstable and this wasn't at all the right time to let his mind slip. Needlessly to say, it was getting very hard to ignore for Sherlock who had nothing else to do but touch her. As he finally cleaned her face as well from blood, he wiped the sweat off her forehead. Cold sweat –hypotension.

"Oh!" he exclaimed. Her blood pressure was lowering. Sirens of "Danger" buzzed inside his mind. He had been afraid of this— her already weaken body coupled with blood loss even of this amount was enough to drop the pressure of blood pumping through her veins. He whirl winded out of the room as a quick remedy came to mind. He reappeared within a minute with a glass of salt water in his hands. Lifting her gently just enough to make her lips make contact with the liquid, he was relieved that she responded, as she gradually took a small sip of it. Her eyes still closed.

Sherlock let out a breath that he hadn't realised he was holding as he sensed her sweating starting to decrease after ten minutes or more. He slipped his hands in his coat pocket. She was stable for the time being but the situation wouldn't last long and he knew that as his hands busied texting.

" **FOUND WHAT YOU'VE BEEN LOOKING FOR! CALL OFF THE MEETING! HER CONDITION IS NOT VERY STABLE; SEND THE CAR AS FAST AS POSSIBLE. YOU KNOW WHERE I AM. THIS PLACE IS NO LONGER SAFE." SH**

Finishing his text he threw the phone back into his pocket. He was sure Mycroft would already be aware that the girl had been found, thanks to Bradford. The Xero would be in custody by now. An evil smile crept over Sherlock's lips at the thought of being part of the interrogation. Not that he needed to know anything else at the moment since he had all the information he needed but the savage beast inside his chest was roaring to return some of the favors that man had done to Molly. The monstrous smile faded, however, as his eyes fell onto her again. He can punish those who had hurt Molly but who would punish him? He thought. He decided to leave that decision to the person lying before him. And as he thought of punishing, he thought of Mycroft who also had a lot to explain. Sherlock fisted his hands in anger but was distracted by the faint moan escaping Molly's mouth.

Molly was still shivering under two thick blankets. How to overcome the shiver which was still there? Sherlock looked around for more covers but to his dismay he found none. Their carriage would be here in no time but he obviously couldn't let her shiver like that whilst he was waiting. He bit his lower lip at the thought that currently occupied his mind. She needed to be kept as warm as possible. Of course he knew his science; the warmer she was the sooner the fever would reduce. She needed it and it was only logical. But apart from being logical she was his friend and he was ready to do whatever it took to keep her as stable as he could.

Without thinking any further, Sherlock neared her bed and lifted the covers just enough to slide his arm under her neck and rotated her petite body towards him as he slipped under the covers. He didn't bother to remove his coat as it would provide an additional source of heat; he rested her head comfortably against his chest. He took her arm and encircling it around his waist hence avoiding any chances of her elbow touching the bed. As he did so, she lay there next to him, her body half buried into the lapels of his coat which was draped around her. His own heart beat abruptly increased as the jasmine scent was now surrounding him at its fullest. Aware of the impact on his already overwhelmed senses he took a deep breath and pulled her fully against him removing the tiny distance that had earlier remained. And just like that Sherlock Holmes just forgot how to breathe as her body touched his. Oh the small, fragileness of her, it was throwing him off balance. He adjusted her more comfortably and firmly against him. He could literally feel the heat seeping from his body through to her; could feel her shivering gradually reducing.  _It is only science and she is a friend_ , he reminded himself as he tried to use logic on his own senses. He incredulously laughed at his own situation. Only a half an hour earlier, she wasn't even letting him near her and now here she was in his arms – unconscious! And with every bone in his body he strongly believed that things would go back to the way they had always been once she awoke. He remembered those cold eyes staring at him and it made him very uncomfortable. Sherlock's life was made more beautiful by the warmth of her affectionate gaze and now the thought of that being taken away scared him far more than he cared to admit.

"No!" he whispered. He couldn't let her take that away from either of them! She had to get back to the warm and fuzzy Molly he had always known — so full of life. His Molly, just the way he liked her. Instinctively, he lowered his lips down and pressed them softly to her forehead.


	10. I Need You

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> H

He ran along, holding her hand in his both, as the medical assistants wheeled the stretcher towards ICU.

"We'll take it from here." One of the doctors obstructed Sherlock and her hand slipped out of his grip, her fingertips sliding over his. The wheels turned and within a blink of an eye she was separated from him. Sherlock stood still like a living statue, his hand still hanging loosely as he watched her disappearing behind the doors of ICU. Unable to think about anyone else but her; he stood there like that for God knows how long.

"Maybe now you should give a little consideration to attend some of your own wounds as well, brother dear. You look terrible." A possessively authoritative voice brought him back to the world of reasoning again. Sherlock snapped his head up to see Mycroft standing next to him, eyes on the door in front of them.

"And perhaps have a seat as well, if I might suggest it." He rounded his head to see Sherlock glaring at him intensely. "One hour is a long period to stand like this, Sherlock."

_One hour…_

There was a burning silence as the two Holmes stood in front of each other.

"I'm sure they will take good care of our patient." Mycroft spoke again, watching him carefully as he slipped his hands into his pockets.

Sherlock glared daggers at him. "Why did you keep this from me?" Mycroft knew that the calmness of his voice was a screaming signal of the storm raging behind the words he spoke.

"I can assure you, Sherlock, that my intentions were never…"

"NEVER WHAT?" His voice shattered the walls of silence created around them. Mycroft stared at him.

"You intended to keep this to yourself rather than letting any other person in," he hissed at him. "You intended to let her suffer? The woman who saved my life – but your mind seemed to conveniently forget this simple little favour."

"Think again, brother mine." Mycroft calmly controlled his voice. "Did my mind slip on this little favour? Am I the forgetful one? Is it really me who should struggle to remember who his savior was?" Colour was also rising in Mycroft's cheeks ever so slightly. "Should I remind you that I was never the one considered as a friend of Miss Hooper."

Sherlock opened his mouth to spit back but his brother gave him no chance.

"I kept a closer eye on your pathologist, making sure she was physically alright. I offered what I best could with the level of association I have with your friend." He emphasized the f word. "Because I never forgot, for a second, what she did for us. I provided her with what I could – surveillance; making sure that she wasn't hurt, at least physically, when you were obsessing over Magnusson." He paused just a little before speaking again. "So when I say I haven't forgotten the virtues of that woman, I indeed proved it. And I invite you to reconsider the fact again as to whether it was I or you who forgot about Miss Hooper and what she did for us, Sherlock." He faced away as he finally finished.

Sherlock's eyes flickered as the bitter truth of Mycroft's words blew severely across his head. There he was accusing his brother who had taken care of his friend despite that fact that it wasn't Mycroft's responsibility as Molly was Sherlock's associate. His insides began to itch at the realization of how accurate his words were. They stood like that for minutes, Mycroft facing away from Sherlock, who stood stupefied.

"You could have just let me know." His lips gradually parted, keeping his voice low this time.

Mycroft rounded his head to see him again. "Tell me brother, how many time did you allow my intervention in your dealings with, what you so delightfully call, your friends?"

Sherlock looked up at him with absolute pain in his eyes. Right again. He never did let Mycroft interfere in his life let alone getting him to access the most restricted part of his private life – the little band of people he trusted and loved. And he remembered how he had almost broken Mycroft's arm the last time he had intervened. The two of them had had little to no conversation in the weeks following as Sherlock had ignored every call and every text he had received from him thereafter.

"Molly has been on her own for almost three months, Sherlock." He continued. "We both know what it was that occupied you during that time. But I suppose, you should have displayed a bit more thought and understanding regarding what was going on in the lives of your other friends."

Mycroft flinched internally at the sight of Sherlock, now clinging to the edges of the bench he had finally occupied, sitting muted. In that moment, to Mycroft, he looked like a ten year old Sherlock getting caught doing something very naughty. Making him feel guilty wasn't the intent of the elder brother who loves Sherlock more than he'd care to admit.

But before he could say anything which could be labelled as "comforting words", the door of the ICU opened and a senior doctor emerged.

"Mycroft!" he greeted no sooner had he spotted him.

With the most formal and calm posture, that he was so masterly an expert at wearing, Mycroft smiled at the doctor.

"Dr. Gallus!" Mycroft shook the hand the neurologist offered.

"I'm glad you've finally made here. The team of specialists, that you requested earlier, has arrived," he informed him seriously as their hands parted. "It's too early to say anything about the patient's condition. But right now, immediate action is required."

"Yes?" Mycroft inquired.

"The haemoglobin level has reduced to critical. 5.4 to be exact. Blood samples are being taken and I strongly recommend an immediate blood transfusion."

"What are the complications then?"

Sherlock too looked up at the doctor, mentally asking the same question.

"Blood group. Your patient's blood group is very rare. We currently don't have enough of it in the blood bank."

Mycroft frowned in anticipation. "And the blood group is?"

"O negative." The creases on the forehead of both the Holmes momentary relaxed at the reply of the doctor.

"We happen to be lucky in this respect, Dr. Gallus." Mycroft smiled. "I can be a donor as I share the same blood group." Mycroft proposed.

"Wonderful!" exclaimed Dr. Gallus. "Please accompany me. We'll need to run a few tests on you first if you don't mind."

Mycroft hesitated for the briefest moment as he glanced back at Sherlock sitting on the bench. Their eyes meet for a second before Sherlock looked away. Without saying another word Mycroft marched past him, following the senior neurologist. As he did so, he caught the slight hint of pain in the piercing bluish green eyes. But of course he couldn't do anything to help ease it right then, so he decided to leave it for another time may be. He knew he was needed by both but right now Molly's need was far greater than his brother's.

He turned, however, as he walked past Sherlock. "I'll send a nurse to attend to your injuries. Do me a favor and be a little cooperative."

Nothing came back from the detective who continued to look away. And without even waiting for his answer Mycroft quit the otherwise deserted corridor.

* * *

Mary shifted uncomfortably on the couch, dragging the soft cushion into a more favourable position. She was near her due date. She huffed as she checked her mobile for the millionth time before dropping it with a thud onto the table and nervously bit her lower lip. Mary was a woman of extraordinary talents with investigative ability and intelligence and yet here she was stuck at home, especially when she could have been part of so much more going on in their life. She badly wanted to know where her friend Molly was. John was off to have a chat with Tom. And she knew her husband's temper. She went through her text history again all the while trying to ignore the slight pain that was starting to niggle.

John exhaled slowly through his nose to calm himself down as he stepped out of the café and flagged the cab. He noticed his phone buzzing against his coat pocket. He gave the address to the cabbie and then busied himself with his next task. Smiling just a little for the first time since he left the café he read the texts.

**REMEMBER WHAT WE AGREED ABOUT IN THE MORNING JOHN. WHATEVER THE REASONS, DO NOT TAKE MATTERS IN YOUR HANDS! - MW**

**MAYBE YOU SHOULD CONSIDER TAKING GREG WITH YOU. – MW**

And then he read the one received just now.

**IS IT GOING WELL JOHN? IS EVERYTHING ALRIGHT? - MW**

He shook his head slightly, pulling his gloves off as he started texting. She knew him so well, that woman. It was lucky for Tom that John had made a promise to his pregnant wife at the breakfast table to go easy on him if anything happened.

 **YES MARY. DON'T WORRY I'VE KEPT MY PROMISE. HE'S STILL** _**INTACT.** _ **AND NO ONE BUT YOU CAN BE BLAMED FOR THAT. HE CLEARLY NEEDED IT. – JW**

Mary jumped ever so slightly as her phone beeped loudly and she latched onto it. She sighed in relief as she went through the text. Only ten hours earlier she was groaning at the breakfast table about not being able to go with John, to do something. But in reality, John's temper was her real worry. And this had made her entire day restless.

John could almost imagine Mary relaxing now but his face dropped at the thought of how short lived her relief will be when she hears about Molly. He wanted to get back to her as soon as possible.

He tried shaking off the words of the recent conversation; they were still throbbing in his mind. He had to pacify the feeling of guilt, at least for now; it wasn't letting him think straight.

"If I am to do this, I need to do it right!" he murmured to himself as he looked down at the device in his hands, scrolling down the contact list. He decided this was the perfect task for the British government. Since Sherlock wasn't there it was now the other Holmes he needed to count on. John cleared his throat loudly as he waited for Mycroft to pick up the phone. But to his surprise, the call wasn't answered. Leaving a message at that number he moved to the second and possibly last person on his list.

"John." Lestrade answered.

"Hi Greg. Can you come over to my place tonight?" he asked, skipping all the polite yap and yack.

"Well yes. Of course mate," Lestrade replied as he pushed the case file he had just closed and nodded to Sally to take it away. "As a matter of fact, I was planning to visit you."

John peered out of the window as he spoke again. "There's something I found out about Molly today."

Lestrade waited for Sally to pick up the file from the table and march out of the room. His tone changed entirely no sooner had the sergeant left the room. "How serious?" he asked him hastily.

"Very." was John's only answer.

The DI frowned. "I have something to tell you as well… about her of course." He rubbed his temple in concentration. "Alright! I'm heading for an arrest right now. I'll drive directly from there to you. Expect me within two hours. Okay?"

"Okay. See you there then."

But what John didn't know was that Mary had different plans for the night. So no sooner had he stepped foot in his home, her labour pains started and he had to rush her to the hospital.

* * *

Mycroft returned back after the blood donation was completed. He felt internally relieved as he slowly approached Sherlock, now all cleaned. Neatly attended but deep gashes were now clearly visible on his pale face. He was leaning on the wall, hands buried in his coat and mind so occupied that he didn't even notice when Mycroft came to stand behind him.

"I'm glad you cooperated," he gave him a small smile which Sherlock didn't return. There was a pause whilst they stood staring at each other.

"I.. am.. sorry." Sherlock was the first to speak. Mycroft's jaw dropped a little at those three small words. He searched his face and what he found touched his heart. Sherlock's eyes were bewildered.

"I am sorry too, Sherlock." He felt no shame in admitting so. "I couldn't provide her with any emotional comfort, when all the time, I was aware that she needed it more than anything else."

They looked at each other again as Mycroft spoke. "I've never been close to Molly. Believe me, there were moments in the past weeks when I wished I were. She's been suffering more than you can imagine, Sherlock."

"But… you should have talked to me about it," Sherlock repeated.

"I did try to tell you." He folded his arms over his chest, raising an accusatory eyebrow at him. "When you were repeatedly ignoring my calls and kicking my men out of your flat," Mycroft's said grudgingly. "Not to mention you drugged me on the day a get together was finally arranged."

Sherlock stood straight as he put his arms behind his back. Mycroft hadn't spoken once about  _that_  little incident. Sherlock glanced at him with shame as his words made sense to him. Given his state, Mycroft didn't want to hurt him anymore but it was getting hard as the facts, however bitter they were, needed to be spoken.

"Of course the current turn of events are very…unexpected! I never dreamt of her involvement in all this."

"Well you got what you wanted, didn't you?" he replied indifferently.

* * *

After three hours of excruciating waiting, both of them were finally sitting in a little conference room with a team of doctors. Mycroft briefly watched Sherlock as his fingers continued tapping the table unconsciously. He had never seen him being this patient and still being so at war with himself internally.

"The injuries except for a few are not major." One of the surgeons broached the subject. "But those are external. The worry lies internally, Mr. Holmes."

"Go on please." Mycroft replied.

"I'm sure you realize your patient has been suffering from Acute Stress Disorder. She's been exposed to a severe mental and neurological stress for an ominously long period. The recent physical attack did drastic damage to an already feeble psychogenic situation in her mind. The body is suffering from prolonged malnutrition that has weakened the immunity system. There's a huge depletion in both calcium and Iron levels."

Locking his fingers together, he looked from Sherlock to Mycroft again.

"I'm afraid the fainting wasn't just due to a regular case of high fever." Sitting all stiff, Sherlock frowned at this. There was a very brief pause before the neurologist opened his mouth again.

"The receptors of the brain are not responding as we would expect them to."

Sherlock's mouth dried as he visibly swallowed the words.

"This is a case of Chronic Insomnia..there's a threatening level of sleep deprivation. So coupled with all the symptoms I've mentioned earlier..Her brain is shutting down. I'm sorry but we have done everything that we can with all these complications. The next twenty four hours are very critical. If her brain does not signal the body to respond to the all the medication we have provided..I'm afraid we won't be able to stop her from going into coma."

Mycroft instantly looked at Sherlock who gasped.

"I'm really sorry, Mr. Holmes, but all we can do now is to wait." He added apologetically.

At that one moment, Sherlock loudly stood up making all the doctors eye him questioningly. Mycroft rubbed his temple uncomfortably as he waited for Sherlock to spit out some kind of insult but his heart sank when Sherlock opened his mouth.

"Can I see her…?"

"Uh..you're a sensible man, Mr. Holmes. Surely you know we can't let you in the ICU when the patient is in an extremely critical situation. Besides, it's very likely she won't respond to anything you say or do at the moment."

"She will! She always has. Why wouldn't she now? Molly never says no to anything I ask for." He replied childishly.

"But.."

"..Let me see her… please."

"I suppose it's possible to arrange?" Mycroft asked calmly yet authoritatively.

Dr Gallus looked at Mycroft thinking for a moment before nodding. "Of course! It is possible. Mr Sherlock Holmes Jnr can visit the patient. But I strongly recommend it be brief."

"It will be." Mycroft assured him as Sherlock hastily exited the room.

* * *

Within two hours John was joined in the hospital by Lestrade.

"Thanks for coming Greg." John said sounding a bit tired.

"No problem," He replied. The two men took a seat on a bench nearby. "How's Mary? So what is the progress so far?" Lestrade asked him once they'd settled down.

"Well, she's progressing well so far. It's her first though, so it could certainly be a while. Her water hasn't broken yet, and things will probably speed up once that happens. She's stable so they'd like to get her up and walking to help move things along." John paused and then looked at Lestrade with a grimace. "She's in a fair bit of pain already, of course."

Lestrade shook his head with a look that conveyed both horror and respect. "I don't know how they do it, mate," he said quietly and puffed out a breath.

They sat silenced for some seconds when Lestrade spoke again. "So, now obviously isn't the right time to speak about what we expected to discuss some hours earlier I think."

John shrugged. "Yes. The timing isn't perfect but I want to discuss it anyway Greg. I don't think we can lose any more time," he said seriously.

Lestrade settled himself as John recalled his little meeting with Tom just a few short hours ago. He repeated the tale Molly's ex fiancé had told him and by the end of his talk John was partially relieved when the desire to punch Tom came out of Lestrade's mouth bluntly. At least he wasn't alone in this thought.

"That little piece of crap." Lestrade spat. "I already saw how dim witted he was at your wedding, John. I'm glad Molly ended it. He didn't deserve a woman like her."

John nodded in agreement as he sighed. "I told him the same. So what now? What are we going to do? We have to find her and quick, Greg. You and I are both smart enough to know what her reaction was to this news." He rubbed his thigh in tension recalling what they saw at Molly's flat. "I just hope we are not too late."

"That I hope too, John. I've checked Molly's official records. There's nothing very unusual there. She was raised in Glasgow; only child, and had no family except for the father who died five years ago of cancer. No relatives whatsoever, and that leads me to believe that she might have lied about the ill relative. On that basis I don't think she is in Edinburgh." Lestrade said as he supplied John with his own investigations.

"So where do you think she is?" John looked troubled.

"I'm not sure I can answer that, not one hundred percent. There's a family house in Glasgow. I had been planning to visit it for some time but given the situation, I think I need to head to it tomorrow. We need to start somewhere."

John brightened up a little at this. "Excellent! That sounds like a plan. Keep me informed. I wish I could come along but Mary needs me.

"Sure will," he assured him. "And you let me know about the baby."

* * *

Sherlock had been in such a tearing hurry to see her, but his feet slowed once the nurse opened the door, allowing him entry. He was afraid; afraid of what might happen and of what he might have to live with. But he did go in. The nurses left him alone with only the soft beeping of the monitors to fill the silence.

She looked so small. She was almost like a child lying in that bed. It's not as if Sherlock ever thought of her as tall before, but he realized that even in her small stature she commanded his attention so easily that he didn't think of her as being this small. In his life, she occupied such a prominent place; it was easy to forget how physically small she was.

Sherlock pulled a chair over as close to the bed as it could go, never taking his eyes off her as he did. He sat down and his eyes immediately went to the pale and fragile looking hand lying at her side. He gingerly slid his fingers around it and grasped it gently, as if he was afraid he might do some damage.

"Molly, I…" He stopped and closed his mouth again. He wasn't exactly sure what he wanted to say now. He wasn't sure he could find the words.

As he looked at her deathly still features, he felt a lump of emotion rise in his throat. He wished that she would just open her eyes. Then he would hardly even need words. Molly, his Molly, never needed much to understand him.

She had only to look at him and she could make sense of the turmoil beneath the surface. Now he felt like he was alone and out of his depth. He had so make her see…when she couldn't.

"Please hear me, Molly," he began slowly. "I know you're tired, so very tired…but I can't let you slip away like this. You're not alone anymore, Molly. Please don't feel as if you're alone."

He chuckled a little and smiled suddenly. "Do you remember when I came to you for help? Of course, I know you do. I was so desperate and afraid." He frowned as if he'd had an epiphany. "And you weren't. You were calm and strong. I'd rarely ever seen you so focused and efficient, not that you aren't normally…but that was really something. I was impressed. And after that, I remember thinking often that if you ever came to me for anything, I would do everything in my power to help you in just the same way."

His eyes clouded a little and he had to pause. "This…should have been how I repaid you. You should have been able to show up at my door and beg me to help, and I would have been there for you…no questions asked. But I was far away. Once again, I didn't see you the way that you have always seen me. Once again, I was selfish."

He cleared his throat. "I've been working on this case, Molly…your case. There's still more to be done, as I'm sure you know. There are questions that need answering, more so now than ever before."

He reached up and moved some hair from off her face, moving a bit closer in the process. His voice dropped to a lower whisper as he spoke again.

"But I can't keep working on this case anymore…not without you. This is your case, Molly. And I'm not doing it for Mycroft anymore, or the British government, or least of all myself…I'm doing it for you." His grip on her hand tightened and his eyes raked over her still face. "Wake up, Molly. Wake up, and we will face this together. I wasn't there like I should have been, but I'm here now…and I'm not going anywhere."

The door opened and a nurse stuck her head in. "The doctor would like you to finish up for now. We can let you back in later."  
Sherlock nodded and stood up. He leaned down and briefly pressed his lips to her forehead before releasing her hand and finally walking away. He kept looking back as he left the room, hoping that he'd see her eyes fly open.

But she was far away…

* * *

_The cool breeze gently caressed her face as she slowly opened her eyes; slipping her hands off of her eyes. Gradually as the blurriness faded from her pupils, the brown eyes started taking in their surroundings. Her head rested against the soft grass beneath as she smiled at the cool happy blue sky above. For what felt like an eternity, she just continued lying on the soft grass, staring at a stray cloud which came hovering above her no sooner she had opened her eyes. She smiled peacefully and reached out her hand, as if trying to touch the cool white wool when her eyes drifted to her hand. Abruptly she sat up and looked down at herself. She laughed as she spotted her small hands, her little body – the body of seven year old Molly. Her hands travelled from her bright blood free face to down her bare uninjured arm as she giggled._

_"Molly…"_

_Gleefully, she turned her head as she heard a voice – a very familiar one. She looked around the stretched lengths of peaceful deserted meadow in which she was sat all alone._

_"I'm coming, ready or not," she said in sing song way as she whirled about._

_"Come on my love." She heard the invisible voice saying playfully to her._

_She spotted a figure standing far over at the other edge of the vast field but the next moment it disappeared. Getting up she ran in that direction – her laughter ringing like bells in the air. Her hair flowing like waves behind her._

_"If I find you.." she called a little breathlessly. "Am I_ _coming with you?" she questioned as her voice echoed across the field._

_"You have to win first! Come on." The voice came again, making her grin._

_"I always win,_ _dad!"_ _she cried back happily as she resumed running._

The next twenty four hours proved most heavy on Sherlock. He ruefully ignored every attempt of Mycroft to get him to take some rest. He just sat on the bench with his limbs tightly knotted. It was somewhere in the morning when he dozed off for few minutes, his head resting at the wall. The certain noise suddenly woke him up from a confused dream – he had a strange sinking feeling of time slipping out of his hands. He abruptly stood up, taking two strides in a beat and peered through the glass window. The world around him dissolved into nothingness as his hands stilled on the glass window of the ICU door the moment his eyes landed on Molly… watching her breathing becoming rapid.

"No.. Molly.." he whispered.

"Increase the oxygen intake!" the elder neurosurgeon spat out instructions to his colleagues. "Stabilize the.." his face burned up at an unexpected intrusion. "Mr Holmes!" he yelled at Sherlock. "Please wait outside!" His voice came as a growl at this unprofessional intrusion. "No one is allowed in here right now."

But Sherlock barely registered him yelling at him to stay out as he practically knocked the doctor who was fixing the ventilator over and took a quick step forward, reaching out for her.

"Molly!" His breaths sharp with fear as his hands darted out and cradled her face firmly.

"Mr. Holmes, we must ask you to leave the ICU now!" The team of doctors were baffled at this behaviour from a fully grown man. "The patient is in an extremely critical condition…"

_She laughed wholeheartedly when her hand curled around a wrist in the thin air._

_"Found you!"_ _She laughed in triumph when out of the chilling soft fog appeared a man, giving her a gentle defeated smile. Seven years old Molly, standing on a high hillock, hugged Arthur - her beloved father- around his neck as he lowered himself to his daughter._

 _"I told you,_ _daddy. You always lose the hide and seek game. Even my teddy can find you."_

"Listen to me." he removed the oxygen mask that was hindering their faces. "Come back to me, Molly," Sherlock begged.

_"Take me with you daddy." she happily held a hand out._

"Her body is shutting down. She is going into coma. It's too late now." He heard them saying. There was a great hustle around him.

"SHUT UP!" he screamed at them like a madman.

"What is going on…?" the authoritative voice of Mycroft joined in. His face turned into a grimace when he peered at the face of his desperate brother who was very near to tears.

"Let him stay please." He requested apologetically.

"Molly.. You cannot do this to me. I know I've done wrong. I always do things that make you angry but you never got this angry with me. Talk to me! Don't punish me like this." Sherlock said hysterically as the beeps of monitor slowed with each passing second. Tears finally dripped down his face as he rested his forehead against hers.

_"I want to be with you.. I want to go with you."_

"Stay..p..please."

_Arthur nodded and gently took her small hand in his and the two of them started walking down wards… very slowly into the faded valley._

His rumblings went low as one of his tear slid over her face.

_"Listen to me." a voice called to her. "Come back to me.." Someone was saying….was whispering.._

With a defeated sigh Sherlock mumbled against her faintly breathing lips. "I…I..need you, Molly."

_They halted as Arthur looked down to see his seven year old daughter._

_"I need you,_ _Molly." The voice_ _said_ _again, this time as a rasp._

 _"Looks like someone is in need of you."_ _He gave her a watery smile._

 _Molly looked back. "I don't want to go,_ _daddy,"_ _she protested innocently._

 _"I will be right here,"_ _he assured her but took a step back as he slowly let go of her hand. "I'll be waiting for you."_

_Sherlock lifted his face just a little as he discerned her body becoming still and her breathing barely registering._

_"Remember I love you,_ _my Molls."_

 _"No… wait!"_ _She ran towards him but he was swallowed up into the chilly fog again. "Let go. Let go."_ _His final words echoed._

_She was back as an adult again as she turned to face the direction of the voice that she'd heard earlier…_

The dead silence of the room was suddenly broken by a beep. With a faint grunt the machines started operating again. The doctors looked at Molly, still covered by Sherlock and then back to the machine in disbelief. With a jerk, like she was pulled by a gravitational force, she felt her brain coming back to reality.

"That's impossible!" one of the surgeons breathed out, wide-eyed, as the spikes of waves on EEG machine were becoming more and more regular.

Sherlock abruptly stood straight, immediately stepping away to let them treat her once more and a great hustle started around Molly. He pressed his eyes closed and let out a breath that he hadn't realized he was holding. Slowly, very slowly he moved away from the bed, never breaking his gaze from her.

"Let's wait outside now, Sherlock." Mycroft patted his shoulder, encouraging him outside. "You've done well. Let them take it from here."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to writingwife83 for writing this special Sherlolly ICU meeting scene for me.


	11. The revelation

Lestrade stopped his car just at the edge of the street and stepped out. Locking the vehicle he started walking down the road which led to a group of terraced houses. It was pretty early in the morning and the sun was trying to break through the hazy sky. Smoke was steadily emitting from some of the chimneys. He made his way to the small house, and as he reached the threshold, he pulled out his gloved hand to ring the doorbell. He rang twice and waited for more than ten minutes before finally admitting that there was no one inside the house. He looked disappointed.

He grunted with irritation as he turned and placed his hands on his hips. He was determined to make this long trip worthwhile. So he covered a few more steps and knocked at the door of the neighbouring house. After waiting a minute, he heard footsteps approaching.

"It's only six!" An irritated feminine voice came from the other side of the door. "What on earth..." A young woman appeared when the door wung open.

" Hi!" Lestrade greeted her with unusual enthusiasm. "Sorry to bother you at this hour of the morning." He smiled brightly to the lady who didn't seem pleased at being woken up. But as soon as she laid eyes upon him; her displeased frowns vanished slightly.

"..Hi, " she replied, smiling a little to the dashing stranger standing on her doorstep. "Can I help you?" She pushed a strand of her messy hair behind her ear.

"I'm hoping you can." Lestrade continued wearing that smile. "Do you, by any chance, know why the house next door is empty?"

She stepped just a little outside to have a better view. "Which one?"

"That one." He pointed to Molly's house. "Arthur Hooper's."

"Oh yeah that. I don't exactly know." She shook her head. "It's usually closed up even when she's at home."

Lestrade froze at his spot. So she has been here.

"Ahh Yes! She can be like that sometimes." He feigned happiness. "I drove all the way from London just to meet her and look she's nowhere to be found." He laughed. "Do you know though where she could be this early?" he suddenly became serious.

She looked at him, mentally calculating. What's so special about that Hooper girl anyway that's drawing men this handsome to her? Only last night she'd watched a gorgeous man with dark curly hair carrying her in his arms into a black corolla. She hadn't seen her since. And now, yet another charming fellow was standing on her doorstep and asking about the same person. She was feeling a bit… disappointed.

"I haven't seen her," she lied.

"Oh…" She watched him exhale. "I'm sorry but who're you?" she asked curiously.

"Gregory Lestrade." She shook his gloved hand. "I'm Molly's cousin. She told me she'd be here when we talked last night but maybe some work might have come up," he added as he let go. "That's strange though, she never normally does this." He was lying through his teeth. Gosh he hoped it was worth it.

 _"Cousin, right,"_  she thought, smiling internally. Well at least he's not the boyfriend as she'd suspected him to be.

"Oh well." Lestrade sighed. "Seems I'm gonna just have to wait for her. Thank you for your time, Miss?"

 _Oh and a gentleman too._ "Kathy!" she provided smilingly.

"It was nice talking to you, Kathy. Have a good day," Lestrade said, turning to leave.  _What a disappointment._

"You can wait in our living room, if you like," she called out after him. "I mean, it's pretty cold out there, isn't it?" She tried to be clear about her point. "You can wait for your cousin with a nice cup of tea."

Lestrade considered this. It wasn't a bad idea after all. Maybe he could ask her more details about Molly. Besides, if he had to choose between a chilled car seat with no company compared to a cozy lounge with relatively worthwhile conversation, he'd definitely choose the latter.

"That would be very kind of you. Of course," he accepted. "Thanks," he said as he stepped inside the door.

* * *

Sherlock was wrapped up in a comfortable warm blanket sleeping for the first time in seventy two hours. He had finally agreed to take some sleep, much to Mycroft's relief, after Molly was shifted from ICU. The danger was lifted to some extent and Molly's condition was stabilising slowly. He hoped that when he woke up again, he would finally meet her.

Mycroft sat by the window of the room that both of them were sharing right now. How many times had he told Sherlock that caring was not an advantage and yet the detective continued to care. The moments in the ICU had truly amazed him. In that instant, it was clear to even a blind eye that Sherlock was in love with Molly. The only person who seemed ignorant to the fact was the man himself.

Mycroft turned to see Sherlock; his soft snores were the only sounds in the room. How he had behaved recently had truly scared Mycroft. It triggered old memories...he felt almost like he was reliving the time when Sherlock had lost Redbeard. He took a sip of his tea before looking at his watch. She must be on her way. And now that things were turning in their favour, Mycroft planned to lose no more time. He knew his duties very well. Sure enough, in five minutes Anthea's text arrived.

Mycroft discarded the cup on the table as he hurriedly made his way out of the room.

"All done?" he inquired of his PA. "Yes, Sir." Anthea nodded. "At first I thought we had almost lost it but eventually they agreed to our terms."

Mycroft rewarded her with a rare, warm smile as she handed him the file. He was glad that the negotiation with the Korean delegation had gone well without him. "Good work. Well done, Anthea. In critical times like these, you have always proved an asset."

She beamed at this. It wasn't very typical of her boss to pay her a compliment. She had proven her worth though over and over again.

"Sir…" She knew Mycroft was very busy with the current crisis but she had to inform him anyway. "John Watson left a message."

"Not now, Anthea. I'm very busy," he said, without looking up at her as examined the files. "I'm sure you can handle it for me?"

She knew that wasn't a question. "Yes, Sir. Of course. But I had to let you know." She smiled again.

"Of course you have to." He looked up at her. "Remind me again later about it," he said politely.

He was about to go inside when she spoke again. "How did Mr Holmes take it?"

Mycroft turned to face his PA again. He pursed his lips and took a moment to respond to this. "Just the way I expected him to take it."

"Oh." She was expecting the same.

"I want you to stay with Miss Hooper, Anthea. In this matter, once again I'm counting on you." There was the slightest hint of tiredness in his demeanor. "This time it's very different. We're informed that she's mentally quite unstable. The recovery process could be slow."

Anthea nodded in understanding. She remember how on Mycroft's orders she had befriended Molly after Sherlock's supposed death. Since they were the only two women who shared the same secret, their association had gone rather well. "I'll try my best, Sir," Anthea assured him. Mycroft relaxed a bit. "In fact, she's quite fond of me."

He couldn't help but laugh a little at this. "Let's always assume that to be true. I don't doubt your ability to make people comfortable with you."

"I'm taking that as a compliment, Sir," she announced with a grin.

A moment passed between them until Mycroft cleared his throat then Anthea started briefing him about the negotiation minutiae.

* * *

"Miss Hooper, can you hear me?" Molly heard someone saying to her as her eyes slowly began to open. The first thing she could make out was the whiteness of the surroundings, probably the ceiling. Gradually, as the blur of her pupils started to dissolve, she looked at the doctor talking to her gently.

"How are you feeling today, Miss Hooper?" he asked professionally.

"Where am I?" Molly asked him feebly.

"You're in very good hands doctor," Dr Gallus smiled as he approached her as well. "Just try not to put your mind under any strain. You've been through a lot."

He questioned her as he checked some of her recordings. "So is your head hurting you?"

"Just a little," she slowly replied. Everything was bit blurry in her mind. She was in a hospital bed obviously. How had she ended up here? The last thing she remembered was getting home and…

" _No, it can_ _'_ _t be._ _"_  She hated herself for even thinking that way. Surely she was dreaming. That wasn't him back in her house. How could he be there? But if it wasn't him, how had she got here?

"You can sit up a little if you want," Dr Gallus proposed as he finished her examination.

Molly nodded and one of the nurses helped her up. An extra pillow was placed under her head as the bed was raised up.

"How did I get here?" she asked once she was all settled; now being able to get a better view of her surroundings. "I remember being…" Her lips shut when her eyes drifted to the man standing quietly on the other side of the room.

"I'm sure I'm not the one who can answer it for you, Dr Hooper." Her doctor stepped back and Molly's eyes widened a little when she saw him again.

"You can talk to her now, Mycroft," he slowly said to him. "But do remember that she's freshly out of an intense traumatic situation. Say what you must, but be gentle. I wouldn't have risked you talking to her if you hadn't said it was extremely important."

"I'm aware of your concerns, Dr Gallus," he said technically. "I would also have let her rest if it hadn't been a critical matter."

The neurologist nodded briefly and exited the room. After a few seconds, the room was empty of all the medical staff.

Mycroft took some steps towards her as Molly continued gazing at him with a neutral expression.

"Hello. How are you feeling now?" He smiled politely at her but she didn't reply. "I believe you have some questions, Dr Hooper."

"Just one," she said stiffly. "How am I here?"

"Well, I suspect you know exactly how you're here. Yes, it all happened, you weren't dreaming. It was all real. You were attacked. You did go back to your home. And you were brought here under very unusual circumstances." He sat in the chair by her bed.

"Did your brother bring me here?" She wanted to be sure as Mycroft was implying it was all true.

"Indeed." He observed her even more carefully. "Don't you remember it?"

"I haven't forgotten anything." Her colour was rising slightly. "I'm sure I don't need anyone to remind me of that."

"Dr Hooper.."

"Stop calling me that," she snapped at him. "I'm not either of those things anymore. I don't need anyone's pity, sympathy and most certainly don't need your help. I told your brother as well. I appreciate you took the trouble of hospitalising me but I'm quite alright. And I'd like to go back to my home right now."

"Then who are you, Molly?" Mycroft asked her gently, ignoring every other thing she had said. Molly stared at him. "Do you not want to know who you really are? All these weeks, you wished to seek out your identity. You worked alone to achieve your task."

"What do you mean?" She was starting to breathe deeply again. "How do you know that?"

"All I'm asking you to do is to stay here, Molly. And I promise you'll have the answer to every question you've been seeking. Can you do that?"

Her eyes were filling with tears. "W..What are you trying t.." She stopped as the door of her room burst open. For so long she sat frozen, looking at the man at the door.

Sherlock was holding the knob of the door, standing as if stunned. Mycroft gazed at him. It was clear from his slightly rapid breaths that he had come there running. Sherlock stepped inside the room, slowly nearing them, unable to break his gaze from her. Molly swallowed hard and looked away as the memories of their last encounter were now becoming more and more distinct to her.

Suddenly the air became too thick for Molly to breath. There he was, her one friend. The man she had once wanted to be there for her in her moments of need, of comfort. And now, she didn't want even to see him again. He would pity her. His eyes would pity her. And she hated pity. Mycroft took a deep breath as he looked between Sherlock and Molly. Finally, it was he who tried to break the ice.

"Do I have your word, Molly?" he purposefully shifted the course of their conversation to the question he had asked earlier. Molly stared back at him blankly. She had seemingly forgot about what he had asked her.

"There's so much you need to know in a very limited time. I assure you that when I'm finished, you'll find yourself in a better position to understand why you were brought here without your consent."

They sat there quietly, waiting for her to reply. Molly had no idea what he wanted to share with her. Her head was faintly throbbing. In the end, she decided to get on with this quickly. She didn't want be there. She wanted to return back, to her own home. She turned her head to Mycroft and nodded.

"I'm returning to my home after this." She made it clear. A small smile appeared on Mycroft's lips. He stood up and turned as Anthea entered the room with a file in her hand. She nodded to the elder Holmes and briefly glanced at the detective standing silently in the other corner of the room. Anthea marched past Mycroft and handed the file to Molly. Reluctantly, she took it.

For some minutes, the room fell silent as Molly examined the contents of the file.

"What you've been handed is classified information on a case," Mycroft stated. "This.. is CEXON," he told her as she picked up a picture from the file lying on her lap. "It was designed in 1987 by two mathematics professors. The purpose of the device was to help the British government to eliminate one of the most dangerous attacks the country was to face by a group of hi-tech criminals in a network known as The Xeroes." Sherlock kept a steady gaze on Molly's delicate face.

Molly's fingers slid over the papers. "CEXON helped to disable special ammunition called the xero bombs created by the network. Each xero bomb, given a special location code, was planted underground and would have devastated the masses in thousands of number," Mycroft explained as Molly continued her searching. Her heart beat elevated when her eyes landed on a familiar picture.

"And the minds behind the creation of the machine.." He gestured to the picture that Molly had brought out.

"Adam Manson and Emilie Manson…  _your parents_." She gaped. "Yes they were the mathematicians. Awarded and celebrated professors." Mycroft went on.

Sherlock swallowed as he watched the tears start to form in her eyes. Molly blinked. "If it wasn't for them, and the contribution they made by creating CEXON, I'm afraid the attacks couldn't have been prevented. Your parents saved thousands of lives, Molly."

Sherlock's breath caught as a tear course down her pale face. "Did they?" she whispered. He fought the urge of taking two strides to cup her face and kiss her; to comfort his Molly. But he stood rooted in his spot helplessly, hands locked behind his back, aware of the bitter fact that she wouldn't let him.

"Yes, they did," Sherlock found himself saying. "They saved thousands of lives without thinking about the consequences and they lost their own." He felt flustered when she looked up at him for a second time. "A family trait, I suppose. Helping and saving unfamiliar people, or sometimes maybe even the undeserving friend, without giving a thought to the dangers."

Those sad brown eyes stared at him. Sherlock's eyes searched her face; trying to read her pain, read her. Then again, when was he ever able to read the unreadable? She was always a mystery to him. He could never deduce what she might say or do next.

"The Xeroes have risen again, now more threatening than ever." Mycroft spoke again. "Their small demonstration two days earlier is enough to understand this fact. We need this machine to work again and you…Molly, you're the key." Molly frowned. "The device is DNA pass code protected. For that precise reason both we and our opponents were searching for you with completely opposite objectives. They want you killed. It was, however, very fortunate that Sherlock intervened just when they were almost succeeding in doing so."

Molly's eyes shot up from the file at this. The incident of that night replayed in her mind and suddenly it all started to make sense. It was Sherlock…whom she had seen that night. He had fought her attacker…and the gashes on his face were her proof. That's why he was at her house…suddenly…after so many days. Her vision was starting to get a bit blurred again. The strain on her mind was increasing. All this was too much for her to take in.

"They need to be stopped. And I'm determined to put a permanent stop to their dangerous existence this time. But in order to do so, we need your help, Molly. You're parents died for a cause. Help me to ensure that their sacrifice wasn't in vain."

She heard Mycroft talking again. The last words buzzing furiously inside her mind.

"I'll do it," she breathed out. Her breaths were rasping again. "Do whatever you have to." She clutched at the bed sheet to stop her body from shaking.

"Sir, you've talked for long enough," a nurse interjected as she hurriedly entered the room. "Dr Gallus wants you to end this meeting now." She announced, helping Molly to lay down again. Her pulse was elevated and she was sweating. She injected her instantly to stabilise the pressure.

Mycroft neared her bed. "Thank you, Molly. I'm so sorry for the pain I caused you by bringing it up now. Believe me, I have very few choices."

The effect of the tranquilliser the nurse had injected into Molly was starting to affect her. Her eyelids were becoming heavy. Mycroft's words were the last sound that reached her ear. He silently exited the room, followed by Anthea with the file in her hands. He knew that all this information would cause Molly's compromised condition a blow but it was a necessity, and he was obliged to do it no matter how much he hated himself for it. Her consent was a crucial point. He needed to let her in instead of keeping her ignorant to the fact of how important she was in this case.

Sherlock took quick steps forward and the last thing Molly's eyes saw was his face. "I'm scared, S..Sherlock."

He took her face in his hands when the insecurity fell out of the lips of the now drug induced Molly. This was probably the first time he had heard his name coming out of her mouth in weeks. His heart sank at the realisation that despite her total indifference to him, Molly wanted to tell that she was scared. Only, she couldn't manage to keep it veiled anymore as she went under the effects of the sleeping medicine.

"I won't let anything happen to you, Molly. Never again," he whispered. He moved his lips up and kissed her forehead. He cared little that the nurse was still there. Sherlock was sure he heard a very low chuckle from behind. He straightened up.

"How long will this dose of medicine keep her asleep?" he asked the nurse.

"Twelve hours, approximately," the nurse replied.

Sherlock nodded and made a beeline for the door. It was enough time for him to set the record straight with his friend's attacker. He smiled devilishly.


	12. Hooper and Holmes

Molly woke up again after a long sleep. This time, however, when she opened her eyes it wasn't a doctor she found near her bedside. Anthea was conversing indiscreetly with a female doctor. Both women turned their heads when Molly opened her eyes.

Anthea neared her as she saw Molly's stirring. "How are you feeling, Molly?" she asked, smiling brightly and tenderly.

"Better than last time," Molly replied in a heavy voice. "What time is it?" She straightened up a bit.

"It's almost seven in the evening. You've been given the sedative to..." she replied.

Molly winced as her elbow roughly rubbed against the bed sheet when she tried to get up into a sitting position.

"... Let me help you." Anthea moved quickly and assisted her to sit properly; she adjusted the pillows comfortably behind Molly's back.

"I should inform Dr Gallus," the female doctor said. Anthea nodded and she left.

Molly leaned at the pillow. "Aren't you supposed to be somewhere else?" Molly asked her. Anthea smiled.

"I'm just right where I'm supposed to be," she assured her. "With you. I'm ordered to be with you."

Molly scoffed. "You don't need to babysit me, Anthea. I'm not a child. I thought you knew me better."

"Well, it's not that you aren't a strong woman, Molly. I think you have proven that point rather impressively in the days that went by. I must say you were really brave in all this time."

"I was being watched? Oh, I should have known better," she said bitterly.

"Mr. Holmes was worried about you, Molly. He thinks you were his responsibility and he somehow failed to keep you out of trouble. He simply kept a distance but ensured your safety... until he had this crisis to deal with, which caused a split moment of ignorance and you ended up here."

Molly crossed her arms. "Why does he care? He owes me nothing."

"Oh Molly, he owes you so much." Anthea shook her head. "There's so much you need to know. You know very little."

After few minutes a familiar face entered the room, accompanied by the same doctor Molly had seen earlier. Dr Gallus greeted his patient with his usual smile as he approached Molly. Anthea stood up to let them check Molly.

"Good evening Dr Hooper. Feeling better this evening?" he asked her, taking her pulse.

Molly nodded but said nothing.

"You're recovering impressively, doctor." Peering through his glasses he gave her a professional smile. "If you want, you can walk."

"I'd like to," Molly said. Her limbs were getting numb due to constant sleeping. "But my head is just a bit giddy."

"It's the medication, doctor. Perhaps try walking when you feel your brain responding in agreement with your body," Dr Gallus advised.

"I will," Molly agreed.

"Great," he exclaimed."You can take her," he said to Anthea. "But let Mycroft know that this trip must be as quick as possible. A nurse would go with you if any medical assistance is needed."

"Of course doctor. Mr. Holmes sent his gratitude for granting this last favor. Be assured that she won't be disturbed again."

"Alright! Have a pleasant trip doctor. Don't push your brain so much," he gave Molly a little smile and made his way out of room, talking to the other doctor.

Molly looked up at Anthea in question. "What does he mean? Where am I going?"

Anthea neared her and affectionately placed a hand at her shoulder. "You are going… to save the country." She grinned. Just then her phone made a chime sound. "Oh, our ride is here."

"I'm not completely sure I can walk. I'm feeling a bit dizzy," Molly informed her.

"Oh, don't worry about that. We have an arrangement," she said with a sly smile. Molly opened her mouth to ask what arrangement it was when her eyes caught a glimpse of Sherlock walking past the window and the next moment, the detective entered the room.

"Mr. Holmes," she greeted him.

"Everything's set. Are you ready?" Sherlock asked Anthea as his eyes drifted to Molly. Sherlock had never felt as relieved in his life as he was right than, watching her getting better.

"Yes," Anthea replied, wrapping a warm shawl around Molly. "But Molly might need a hand. She said she is feeling dizzy."

"I can walk," Molly bluntly added. Anthea eyed her suspiciously.

"But you just..."

"I can walk now." Molly removed the blanket aside and slowly swung her legs down the bed, acting like a stubborn child. But she winced a little when her feet made contact with the floor.

"No, you can't," Sherlock said softly yet firmly. Without even waiting for her to say anything else, to protest or try walking, Sherlock made his way towards her and bend himself to slip his arm beneath her legs and tightened the other one around her waist, scooping her almost weightless body from the bed. Molly glared furiously at him. Her angry breaths and elevated heart beat wasn't so hard for Sherlock to discern, seeing as she was now so near him.

"Put me down. I'm not a child," she almost hissed.

Sherlock brought his face down to her. "But you are behaving like one, Molly Hooper," he admonished her softly. "I don't think we can afford to repeat what happened back at your house," he whispered.

"You…how dare..." she was warming up.

"Shh..." Sherlock hushed her. "Don't heat up doctor. You're not too well for that yet. You can yell at me for all your heart's content after getting better, Molly."

He stared into her pale eyes until she forced herself to look away. Molly hated how she was now in an awkward position to swing her arms around his neck. Anthea, who looked amused by the scene before her, cleared her throat.

"We should get going," she reminded with a smile, leaving the room as she busied herself again in her cell phone.

Molly continued to look anywhere but at Sherlock as they made their way out of the room, through the corridors and into the black car that was waiting for them outside. Sherlock nodded to one of the men who opened the door as they neared the car. He let go of Molly and gently lowered her down to the seat and closed the door himself.

"We will be right ahead you," Anthea repeated. Sherlock gave her an approving look and she walked away to ride the first car. The detective hoped into the vehicle with Molly. And as he had expected, Molly shot him a look that clearly was intended to ask him why exactly she was to share the ride with him instead of Anthea?

"Whatever happens, do NOT stop the car," Sherlock instructed the driver, who nodded and started the engine, and then turned to answer the question that was just at the edge of Molly's lips but wasn't coming out.

"You would be safer with me than any other person under the present situation. This ride can be a dangerous one. There are people out there who might attack us. Although we are moving under very tight security, we cannot risk anything. You need to be with the person who can safeguard you and I'm your only and the best option," he explained while gazing into her eyes.

A moment passed between them. "I don't want anything to happen to you, ever again. I failed once, I'm not failing again," he said, breaking the silence and briefly looking at her before turning his head away.

The rest of the journey passed silently as Molly tightly wrapped herself in the shawl. It was still very cold outside. She wondered what her life had become in the past few days. There she was, sitting next to Sherlock… in a car accelerating on the road between three vehicles, providing her security. So many questions she wanted to ask… she stared into the darkness that had prevailed outside.

Sherlock occasionally gave her a side glance. He knew exactly what was going on inside her mind, and he hoped that tonight she'd be relieved from her chains of ignorance, ultimately releasing him too from the burden.

* * *

 

After twenty minutes or so, they reached their destination. Big Iron gates clattered shut behind them as the cars went in. Sherlock stepped out of the car, scanning his surroundings. He circled around and approached the other side, sliding his fingers to open the door of Molly's side. She looked up to him when he opened the door. Sherlock was expecting her to protest again or spit something out but to his surprise, Molly said nothing this time as she anchored herself to his shoulders when he lifted her up again.

Together they all entered the building, and Anthea kept fiddling with her mobile phone as they made their way further into the place which looked like a huge facility. Sherlock occasionally looked down at the woman in his arms, when they went into the lift. What Molly could be feeling right now wasn't very hard for him to deduce. If he didn't know her better, she was scared of what might happen tonight. But he decided to wait for the right time to come, which surely was very near now. Finally when the elevator's door opened at third floor, she spoke.

"You can put me down now. I'd like to try walking from here," Molly said to him.

"Are you sure?" He looked unconvinced, but slowly lowered her down. Molly took two small steps and tripped just a little. Anthea held her hand and she started walking again. Just then, Mycroft joined them.

"Good evening, Molly." He smiled brightly. "Apologies for bringing you here like this. I understand that it must be uncomfortable for you. How are you feeling?"

Uncomfortable? You have no idea. "I'm okay," she replied.

"Good." He glanced at his brother before clearing this throat. "Well then, let's do this, shall we?"

They took few more steps and stood in front of an automatic security door. Mycroft swiped his pass through the reader, followed by Anthea. The cool voice of a computer announced "Access granted" message. When the door swung open, the bright lights hit Molly's pupils. Along with the others, she stepped into a huge lab.

Suddenly there was absolute silence in the place when several heads of engineers and scientists in white coats turned from their work, to see the person they were all expecting. Molly felt dizziness increasing under this sudden intense attention. The door swung shut before her with a loud thud.

"I welcome you Molly…" Mycroft stopped to face her. ".. In the facility where your parents worked to built the CEXON." He stepped aside to let her have a look. Molly's jaw dropped at the sight of a huge octahedral shaped complex machine standing three feet above the floor in the middle of the lab. An over whelming wave of surprise flowed through her veins as she fixed her eyes upon the machine crowded by operators attempting to get it start. Molly was so mesmerized by the emotion that she almost forgot she wasn't able to stand only few moments before.

Words echoed… somewhere inside her conscious brain… words that she had now memorized by heart.

"This was what they were doing," she mumbled, finally getting her answer. "This is what that old man talked about and Emilie too in her letter…"

The letter… Yes. Where was it… oh I left it behind. And the old man…? The man who died for me… She thought she must ask what happened to his body.

Sherlock standing behind Molly braced her, putting his hand at her the small of her back. "Are you alright, Molly?" His words pulled her senses back to the world of rationality. Sherlock's voice was so full of… concern.

"Yes," she lied. Anthea stepped forward and taking Molly by her hand both women headed to a glass cabinet in front of them. Molly was helped into a chair facing a glass wall.

"Are you sure that you're feeling well, Molly?" Anthea asked her, raising her voice slightly above a whisper.

"I am," she repeated. Molly sighed before speaking loudly. "Let's get this over with," she said to Mycroft as he entered the room, followed by his brother.

Mycroft nodded and shut the door behind him. He leaned towards a microphone and spoke in his calm and authoritative voice. "Let's begin, shall we?"

Molly could see the pace of activity around the machine suddenly increase as the scientists gave a kick start to the initialization process.

"These experts are the best we can have on Xero technology right now. These scientists have worked for years on this machine. They have tried everything as an alternative to initiate CEXON but ultimately they were forced to admit that only the required DNA can do the trick. So when I came to know through an undercover agent that the girl… I mean you were alive; all our efforts were dedicated to find you." Mycroft broached the subject. It was about time to tell Molly everything.

"I thought you said that the Xero technology was banned," Sherlock added sarcastically.

"It is. Officially! But not for us. Imagine what would have happened if we haven't continued the research process. Where would it have left us now? The government has a country to look after, brother dear."

"Are the samples taken?" Molly questioned.

Mycroft turned to Molly. "Yes. I believe you gave us the consent the last time we met."

"Yes…" Molly stared at the commotion happening at the other side of the glass. "Yes, I did."

Initializing the Computer Encoded Xero Operating Network in t minus two minutes, a male voice announced.

Anthea glanced at Mycroft, who was peering through the huge glass window. The way he furrowed his brows she knew that he was nervous, even though he was hiding it behind his cool demeanor. After all she had watched him working so hard for this and now was the time for results. She had to admit she was feeling quite the same. Had they both not been through all this together? She briefly smiled when she watched Sherlock's eyes glued to the woman sitting next to her.

"You and I Mr. Holmes… we are in the same boat right now," Anthea thought to herself.

Soon the countdown started. There was such intense silence in the room that Sherlock could hear the breaths of the residents. The lights flickered when the electric waves entered the machine. Mycroft gripped the top of the chair in anticipation.

A message blinked at the computer attached to the machine. "DNA VERIFICATION REQUIRED". With a nod, the scientist operating the computer attached to a CEXON in series, initialized the input process of the DNA combination they had earlier extracted from Molly and transfigured it into the required coded input. Molly could literally feel the tension behind the glass as the machine started making noises as it processed the input given to it. Everyone was visibly holding their breaths in nervous anticipation when suddenly the machine stopped.

It seemed a lightning bolt has struck. "What happened?" Mycroft stood straight.

"DNA VERIFICATION REQUIRED" message displayed again. For some minutes, no one spoke. Molly looked up at Mycroft, who let out a loud sigh and moved away to the corner of the room, covering his face with his hands briefly. She turned to see Anthea, visibly baffled with the situation. She didn't even need to look at Sherlock. She knew what she would see.

"No," she said louder than she meant to. Something inside her changed in that very moment. Mycroft turned to look at her questioningly.

"No, we can't give up like that. We should try one more time. There is a reason why this machine is built that way. It has to open. Let's try again." Molly's eyes shone with determination.

"But Molly… we thought that your DNA combination would work, which clearly isn't the…" Mycroft tried to sound as calm as possible but Molly interjected. "Let's try one more time," she repeated. Mycroft rubbed his temple. "… Please."

"Molly's right," Sherlock joined in, looking at her. "This cannot be it. Let's try once more." He clasped his hands behind his back. "We didn't do all this work for nothing."

Mycroft looked between Sherlock and Molly and blinked once before nodding and returning back to his previous position.

"Start the initialization process one more time, please," he ordered, through the microphone again.

There was a moment of hesitation from the other side before the process was kick started again. The phase of input approached, Molly's heart was beating crazily inside her chest. Those five minutes became five hours for everyone when abruptly the machine came to a halt again.

"DNA CONFIRMED" message blinked at the input computer. With a sharp grunt and a rumbling, a swoosh sound produced from within and CEXON came to life.

Suddenly the lab erupted into cheers of victory. Mycroft peered through the glass wall for a second; a wide smile broke at his face, followed by a laugh of uncertainty.

"YES! YES." He pondered a fist at the table.

"It worked…" Molly said slowly. "IT WORKED." A tear fell out of her eye when Mycroft looked down at her.

"Yes, it did." With a wave of excitement and joy, Mycroft bend and placed a quick kiss at Molly's forehead. "Thank you, Molly. Thank you so much."

Molly's eyes filled at this sudden display of affection. Her body was shaking by the over whelming sensation in her throat that wasn't letting her breath. Mycroft smiled broadly at Anthea, who was beaming. He turned to see Sherlock.

"Congratulations, brother. You've just made the nullification of your exile valid," he said enthusiastically. Sherlock returned the smile but his smile faded gradually as he stole a glance at Molly who took a double take at Mycroft's statement.

"Take Miss Hoop… Molly back safely, Sherlock," he added, before turning to Molly. "We'll let you rest from now. You won't be bothered. Thank you for everything. I'll see you soon."

Mycroft moved to open the door and went out of the room to join the other side.

Anthea sat on her knees and hugged Molly. "Are you feeling okay?" Anthea asked in undertone as she patted her back.

"Yeah…" Molly replied half heartedly. "Yeah I'm fine," Exiled?

She eyed Sherlock nervously over Anthea's shoulder when they broke apart. Sherlock stepped forward. "I… um…" He cleared his throat. "Congratulations to you, Molly."

"You too." Her mouth was dry and she didn't even know why. Exiled? She thought again.

* * *

 

The elder Holmes did keep his promise and Molly was no longer disturbed from her routine treatment, much to Dr Gallus relief. The senior neurologist was always complaining about the harm towards the sensitivity of Molly's traumatic situation due to those unprofessional visits. In a week of an uninterrupted sleep cycle and proper treatment, Molly was actually looking quite well. She was asleep most of the time of the day and had Anthea to keep her company in the hours when she was awake. Anthea would brief her sometimes about the affairs that were going on outside the comfort of her room when she'd insist. But other than that she was told nothing else.

Sherlock came only once to see her when she was asleep, but said nothing. Anthea told her one evening. She gave her a sly smile when Molly asked if anyone was here to see her?

"No, no one significant," she kept a straight face. "Although the junior Holmes did came once."

Molly took a sip of water. "Oh," she answered simply.

"But you were not awake," Anthea added as she hid behind the magazine and smiled widely. She could imagine those little frowns that were now surely appearing at Molly's face, followed by a long silence.

"Is there anything you wish to share with me, Molly?" Anthea asked her, from behind the magazine. Molly thought for a moment. She had so much to share, how she spent her time doing everything alone. How she felt isolated. How hard those weeks were for her, and she still had so few answers to her questions. She wanted to go home. And no matter how much she hated to admit, she was actually wanting to know what exactly Mycroft meant by exile.

"I don't… really know." She looked down to her hands in her lap. "I... well, I feel... it's difficult to speak about everything that happened."

Anthea was now listening to her attentively, putting the magazine aside. When Molly didn't say anything for another minute, she stood up and came to sit next to her on the bed.

"Tell me, Molly," Anthea encouraged her by nudging her arm gently.

Molly bit her lip, and let out a shaky breath." I've… lost everything, Anthea. Everything, which I had. I don't know where to go from here." Molly paused. "I've got nothing. Questions that still..." Molly lifted her head. "...that still aren't answered... and..."

They heard a soft knock at the door. Both women turn to see Mycroft standing at the door.

"Forgive the intrusion; may I come in?" Molly nodded with a small smile. Anthea stood up, approaching him. "I hope I was not interrupting anything important?" he asked immediately, deducing their expressions.

He, of course, had been very busy in the past week. So there was hardly any time for him to visit Molly. But Mycroft decided to go and meet her as soon as his schedule was relaxed a bit. After all he owed Molly some answers and the file in his hand was the proof that he was willing to return the favor today.

"No, not at all," Molly said modestly.

Mycroft smiled. "And how are you, my dear?" he tilted his head a bit when he asked Anthea. Molly couldn't help but smile as a silent understanding passed between the two of them. She never said it out loud, but the dynamics of their working relationship had always fascinated her. A nod from Mycroft was always enough for Anthea to read his command.

"I'm very well, Sir," she replied.

"I'm glad to hear that. Why don't you go and refresh yourself and get some rest, Anthea?" Mycroft suggested.

Molly gave her a nod. "Yes, I think you should. You've been here for a long time," she agreed. Anthea hesitated. "Don't worry about me."

Anthea moved to Molly's bedside and picked up her phone. "I'll be back in few hours, Molly. We'll continue from here later, okay?" she murmured to Molly, who gave her an approving smile. Anthea squeezed her hand, gathered her things and exited the room.

"Perhaps get some beauty sleep. Not that you need it," Mycroft whispered as she passed him. Anthea smirked at her secret boyfriend.

"See you soon, Mr Holmes," she whispered back, smiling suggestively. It had been a hard week for them both. Mycroft turned his attention completely to Molly after Anthea left.

"I was just talking to your doctors." Mycroft took the seat Anthea was occupying earlier. "They all appear to be contented with your progress so far. How did this week go?"

"Very dull, actually," Molly answered.

"I supposed so too." Mycroft looked around. "Not a very engaging place, this, to be honest. But then, you were strictly ordered not to be engaged in any activity. I'm glad you rested."

They sat there in silence for few seconds. "The past week has been tiresome; as I'm sure you can understand. But now I'm here to return some favors." Mycroft placed the file at her bedside table. Molly looked at it.

"Your family details, Molly. These are the official records. Everything is in there, including your supposed death. Everything except for the facts of how you survived and became a Hooper."

"Your biological father Adam Manson and Arthur Hooper had been friends. The night your parents were attacked…" Molly opened her mouth to speak but Mycroft continued." …yes Molly, they were attacked; Arthur Hooper was there in Edinburgh to attend an honorary ceremony."

"A ceremony to celebrate his medical achievement," Molly added slowly, understanding. Pieces were all starting to join together, constructing a picture inside her brain.

"Precisely," Mycroft said seriously. "I think it's understandable how he was there just when the incident happen. We have no evidence, but it's clearly suggestive that Arthur Hooper shared the secret somehow."

"He knew. My mother wrote a letter to him and asked him to visit," Molly eyes shone with unshed tears. "She wrote him because apparently they didn't truly and completely feel safe with the security they were provided and clearly they were right. They failed to protect them." She looked away. "And now they're gone."

"I admit that," Mycroft replied. "And Dr Hooper knew that too. That's why he didn't reveal the truth of your survival and fled the country with you. Edward Balstrode, my predecessor, faked a body to be the young Manson. It was the only way to let the network think they had eliminated every last one of you. Balstrode kept looking for you when his people were eradicating The Xeroes. He didn't file the fact with the hope of finding you but his sudden unfortunate death buried the secret with him. And you, you were thought to be gone hence no hopes for CEXON's initiation."

Molly blinked. "Over time the network has grown again, stronger and unpredictable. One of our agents died telling us about them and about the fact that they somehow knew about your survival, the Manson's girl's survival. And hence we discovered it too. Of course, things were difficult for us since in the records you were dead. Without Sherlock's help, finding you would have been almost impossible. With time, Manson became Hooper. I must admit Arthur Hooper was a very brave man. He kept you safe,"

Molly's eyes filled with tears. "He was… yes." She chuckled slowly. "I've been angry with him for keeping all this from me but now I've begin to understand that this was all part of something very huge and he didn't want to lose me like he lost his best friends."

Molly didn't know why she was sharing this with him, but it didn't feel uncomfortable. Maybe she's been alone for too long and somehow Mycroft felt like a support. Molly had never been uncomfortable with him, especially now, when she knew what he did for her.

"Thank you," she said with a sniff. "For looking out when I thought I was alone, but you don't owe me anything. Not anymore."

Mycroft shook his head. "I don't, maybe." He crossed his arms at his chest. "But my brother does. You saved his life, Molly."

Molly looked down into her lap. "I did it for a friend and it was long time ago. It doesn't count anymore."

Mycroft sighed loudly. "I won't ask you to forgive him, Molly. The decision rests… with you. You have your own reasons and I'm not disagreeing with any of them. But I know my brother. Sherlock would never justify his reasons because he feels guilty but I think it's time you should know why he did what he did."

Molly stared at him. Gradually her features softened and Mycroft took it as a positive sign. When she didn't say anything, Mycroft broached the subject.

"I believe you are not familiar with the name of Charles Augustus Magnussen?"

* * *

 

Sherlock briefly turned at the sound of the door opening, mid way through buttoning his shirt, as Mycroft entered the room of a hotel he was currently staying at.

"Back too soon, brother mine." He closed the door.

"You were right. He's tough, that one. Took me hours but eventually I was there. He babbled some information, and that's enough for me to start the hunt." Sherlock proceeded to button the cuff. His wet locks were plastered to his forehead.

Mycroft strode towards the sofa. "Must've been tedious?" he gestured to the freshly wounded knuckles of the detective.

"Of course, what did you expect?" A self satisfied reply came from Sherlock. "What about you?" Sherlock asked as he turned his back at him.

"I'm just returning after meeting Molly. She was looking quite well this evening." Mycroft smiled as he saw his brother's expression.

"Handed her the file, of course?" Sherlock gave him a side glance. "I'm glad that she'll get her answers now."

Mycroft tapped his fingers at his thighs. "Are you not going to visit her?"

"No," he replied.

"Why?"

Sherlock walked to stand in front of the mirror. "You know why."

"You haven't seen her for a week, Sherlock," Mycroft reminded him. "You've been away and very soon you'll be away again for a long time."

Sherlock stared at his reflection for few seconds before slowly turning to face his brother. "My work with Molly is done. She's safe now and probably the best thing for her right now is that she doesn't see my face," he answered slowly, hiding his sadness behind the mask of indifference. "She doesn't want me around, Mycroft. I've seen fire in her eyes."

"Have you tried to assuage that fire?" Mycroft inquired casually.

Sherlock turned his back on him again. "Change the subject, now."

"She needs you, Sherlock," Mycroft pressed on, ignoring what he said.

"She hates me," he almost hissed. "And she's got every reason to do so. Do not lecture me, brother. If you think what you've seen in the ICU changes anything between me and Molly, you're wrong," Sherlock lied.

Mycroft opened his mouth but his phone rang. "Excuse me," he said as he answered his phone. "Yes?"

Sherlock put his arms into his suit while Mycroft was busy at the phone.

"Alright. Thank you Bradford," Mycroft said as he ended the call after a minute. Sherlock adjusted his coat, looking at him expectedly.

"Detective Inspector Gregory Lestrade was seen at Arthur Hooper's house some days ago. According to my agent, he inquired in the neighborhood about Molly," Mycroft informed him.

"Inquired?" Sherlock frowned. "Ah yes. I suppose they are looking for her now too." Mycroft nodded in agreement.

"After all we all have been ignorant about her," Sherlock whispered to himself.

"Apparently John is also part of D.I Lestrade's search now." Mycroft didn't look up to see Sherlock's expression. "He left a message. He wanted to discuss something and I'm sure the subject was Molly's disappearance."

Sherlock pursed his lips in thought. It was the first time in weeks that he'd heard mention of his best friend and he couldn't help but smile a little at the thought that they were doing something to find Molly.

"And if it brightens your day a little; let me inform you that last week the Watsons welcomed a baby girl," Mycroft told him.

"What?" A huge warm and genuine smile covered Sherlock's lips. "How does she look?" he asked sheepishly. Sherlock's eyes shone like nothing Mycroft has ever seen. "Oh but obviously you wouldn't know that." He dismissed his own question with a wave of his hand.

"I dare say she'd be beautiful. Just like her parents," Sherlock mumbled, his smile was bittersweet.

"Maybe you should go and tell Molly the good news. A news such as this would prove healthy to her brain, wouldn't you agree?" Mycroft tried to persuade him. He took his seat again and smiled to himself when he saw Sherlock thinking absentmindedly.

"That should do it," he thought proudly. He started counting inside his mind. Mycroft knew that Sherlock was extremely happy with the news and the only person he would have gone to share it with, if the situation were normal, was Molly.

"Perhaps I should, just this once," Sherlock said after some minutes, grabbing his scarf. "Not that I need it," he sounded calm as he looped it around his neck.

Mycroft picked the newspaper lying nearby. "Of course you don't. You are doing it for a friend." Mycroft was trying not to laugh.

"Yes." Sherlock headed to the door. "I'll see you here again in an hour," he called from the door.

"Oh, I'm positively certain that it'll take you more than an hour, brother mine." And now he wasn't even trying to hide his wide grin as he sat their alone. Mycroft sat the newspaper down and relaxed. "And I owed you this little favor, Sherlock."

He picked up his phone and dialed a number. A feminine voice answered him softly. "He's heading for the hospital. Let's just hope this plan works," he told Anthea.

"It will. Trust me," she replied slyly. "It always works,"

"With a Holmes?"

"Especially with a Holmes." Anthea bit her lip.

"Would you care to join me for tea, my dear? I'm feeling quite lonely this evening," Mycroft said. He could feel her repressing a smile.

"I'd love to, actually,"


	13. Molly's Confessions

_"He would have done everything in his power to stop this from happening to you, Molly. Contrary to common belief, he does care for the people he loves and you're one of them."_

Molly sat motionless on her bed long after Mycroft had left, hands wrapped around the file, pondering over the words he had spoken to her.

_"Do you… trust my words, Molly?" he had asked her. Molly blinked back tears and looked into her lap. Her mind was going numb with the truth that was unwrapped in front of her._

_"Yes," she admitted simply, not completely sure what else to say._

_"I understand that we cannot bring back the time we've lost, Molly. What's done is done. I don't disparage your sufferings for they were great. But I want you to know that Sherlock is trying to compensate. He values you and your friendship. And he's doing everything he can to make amends."_

She stared into nothingness, taking a critical look at her life over the past two weeks, pulling up all the emotions she felt. Her brain pictured all the events that happened to her in the last fifteen days. Molly thought about the chain of events that led her to the place she was in right now, about all those things that she has gained back in this short period of time.

"What got me to the position I'm in now?" she honestly asked herself. "What was I thinking about a few months ago or maybe my whole life about?"

All this time, she kept telling herself that she didn't matter to anyone when in reality she was under the protected eye. Mycroft had kept her safe and… Sherlock…

In a beat, the memories came flooding back in her mind. Two familiar yet very different voices buzzed inside her conscious brain.

_"It shouldn't matter to you…"_

_"…I don't want anything to happen to you, ever again…"_

_"You should just move on…"_

_"… I know you have questions. And you will get the answers."_

_"Who your father was doesn't have to matter now…"_

_"…let me help you…"_

She let out a painful breath. The realization that both of them were in the same situation, struggling against the truth of past, fighting a war alone made Molly gasp. They both had not been there to comfort each other when they had needed it the most.

And then, all of a sudden one day he was there. Molly recalled all the things Sherlock did. All the services he performed, all the comfort he provided to her even though she kept pushing him away. How had she been so blind? It was him, it always had been him. Sherlock had been there with her the moment he knew about her truth.

 _"He made it all possible,"_ she whispered.

Molly closed her eyes, letting her mind loose to replay the memories she had so mindlessly pushing away for two weeks. There he was outside her family house, fighting the attacker who was set out to kill her. There he was when she was struggling for dear life back at her home. She wasn't sure but she had a strange feeling that she even heard him when she was unconscious. There he was sitting next to her in a car because he trusted no one else with her security. Sherlock was the reason she was alive…

Tears of realization fell out of brown eyes, rolling down on pale cheeks. Finally, she saw the truth and in the end it was easy for her to understand it. It was easy when it came down to it especially after all the concrete proof she had witnessed.

* * *

 

After a long hour, the war raging within her was finally coming to an end. Molly closed the file open in her lap and placed it gingerly on her bedside table and slid her legs down. She slipped into her comfortable slippers and strode towards the window. She inhaled deeply through her nose as she neared the open window, filling her lungs with fresh air, feeling truly alive for the first time in weeks. For several moments she stood there with closed eyes, letting tears fall freely.

A soft knock at the door made her heart jump to her throat. She rubbed her face instantly with the back of her hand and composed herself before speaking.

"…Yes," she answered. "Put them on the table please, I'll take it them in a few moments." Molly kept her back to the nurse who would be there with her routine medicine. She didn't want to face anyone right now, not with a tear soaked face anyway.

"Delaying your medicines isn't very appropriate, Molly." A deep baritone voice came from behind her. Molly's eyed widened when she realized it wasn't a nurse as she had expected. She closed her eyes in anticipation. She wasn't yet ready – ready to face him so soon after... What would she say? Molly cleaned her eyes with her finger tips and slowly turned around.

"I don't think it's wise," he said.

"Er… yes." She tried her best to sound calm. There he stood, at the threshold of her room, his hand hanging on the knob. His eyes taking in her appearance when he realized something was not right.

Sherlock swallowed. "Good evening."

"Evening," Molly replied.

"How are you, Molly?" he asked, closing the door behind him.

"I'm… well," Molly quipped.

There was a pause, a really awkward one when Sherlock and Molly stared at each other not knowing what to say or do.

"This is a comfortable room?" he asked. Sherlock mentally kicked himself for asking such a stupid question.

"…Yes." Molly nodded. Sherlock clenched his gloves in his hands nervously. There was another pause.

"Mycroft told me your doctors are pleased with the progress you've -"

"Anthea just went out for refreshmen -"

They spoke over each other.

"Yes."

"They are."

They replied together again. A small smile curled up at their lips, followed by another pause.

"Why don't you sit down," Molly suggested, gesturing to the chair that Anthea so often occupied. Sherlock nodded brusquely and moved towards the chair. Molly moved swiftly past him when he settled himself upon the chair and sat on the edge of her bed.

"It'scometomyattentionthatthebabywatsonhasarrivedlastweek." Unable to stop himself, he babbled it out.

Molly stared at him with confusion. "Sorry, what?"

"Well, Mycroft told me that the Watsons welcomed a baby last week." Sherlock's eyes glistered with happiness for the first time. There was no nervousness in his demeanor when he repeated it.

His heartbeat raced when Sherlock saw the same flicker in Molly's eyes too. "Really, Sherlock?" she said excitedly.

He nodded with a smile that radiated his entire face. "Yes! Really." His voice was overwhelmed.

"That's such wonderful news." Molly's face mirrored his glee and suddenly the breathing became a difficult task for Sherlock. Now that he had seen it he realized how much he had missed that smile.

"It is," he agreed with a wide grin. "Charlotte must be really beautiful, don't you think?" He looked like an excited kid.

"Charlotte?"

"Mycroft told me that they named her Charlotte. Apparently "Sherlock" wasn't quite suitable, although I did inform John that Sherlock is actually a girl's name," Sherlock said matter of factly.

Molly let out a soft giggle, followed by a deep chuckle from Sherlock.

"It's not hard to deduce that Mary might've disapproved of it. As much as I hate to admit it, she does know when someone is fibbing," he said with a dramatic sigh.

Sherlock stared at the lines forming around her eyes when Molly laughed light heartedly. Her hair wasn't up in her usual ponytail but fell graciously along her back over the loosely fitted gown Anthea had personally bought for her by Mycroft's orders because he despised the hospital gowns. She was after all the patient of the Holmes. A few strands playing along her neck covered the healing marks Sherlock had once nursed. His gaze travelled down the length of her arm clearly visible through the light fabric of the garment. To his great relief he could see that the nasty wound along her elbow was almost healed now. And when Sherlock dragged his eyes up again to see her face her cheeks flushed, he swear he fought the urge to make a thorough examination of those lips she so unconsciously chewed.

"thorough examination" what was he thinking? "Not helpful, Molly," he thought uncomfortably. Wrong train of thought.

But if he was being honest with himself, even in that saggy peach colored night gown Molly was…quite a sight. For a blissful moment it felt like everything was back to normal, back to the way it used to be between them. She felt like a home he wasn't aware he was missing till now.

"I have something of yours I'd like to return," he said.

Sherlock fished inside his coat pocket and withdrew a small folded paper. Molly looked down at the paper and then back up to him in disbelief.

"I didn't get the chance to return it earlier. But since it's likely you'll return to your home very soon, I think you should have it back."

He spread his palm, the piece of paper resting on it. Molly eyed it, and reached for it with trembling fingers. She knew what it was. She couldn't believe she was getting it back.

"Thank you." She picked up the letter which was a treasure to her.

"I thought I'd never see it again," she whispered. She opened it carefully, fingers creasing the hand writing as she sighed.

"I wanted it back," she said with a sniff. Sherlock heart twitched. "More than anything else."

He knew she wouldn't ask exactly how Emile's letter has been in his possession. They both knew the answer. How can either of them forget that night?

"I know." He knew of nothing else to say.

Molly glimpsed at Sherlock's intervened hands folded into his lap and something crashed within her when she saw very freshly wounded knuckles of the detective.

How much more would he suffer for her? How much more would he do? She asked herself incredulously.

"Molly, what is it?"

She looked at him sadly, knowing that this was the moment that she needed to take that first step…and make peace.

"I just, um…I've been thinking, quite a lot actually. And all that thinking has included…you." She looked at him briefly before focusing again on toying with the fabric along the wrist of her night gown.

"Has it?" he asked, sounding a little nervous. He hadn't been feeling terribly confident about Molly's opinion of him lately. He felt like he was walking on egg shells around her these days, and it was a terribly unpleasant feeling compared to the relationship with Molly that he was used to in years past.

"I'm not going to lie and act as if I haven't been through a lot. I have, and it's been awful. I've been hurt in more ways than one and I can't bear the thought of hurting anymore."

"Molly, I promise you won't have to –"

"No, please," she said putting her hand up and stopping him short. "I need to get this out and it's a bit difficult. Just…let me say this."

Sherlock nodded. "Go ahead."

"My point is that after all this suffering both mentally and physically, I wanted to do all I can to avoid anything that could hurt me further."

Sherlock's heart sank a bit. Would this be it? Was this the moment when Molly Hooper finally cut him out of her life forever in a effort to save herself the pain. He had to admit that she might be wise to do such a thing…

"And yet," she went on, her voice breaking slightly. "I've just realized that I'm still hurting myself…and you." Her eyes glistened with tears.

Sherlock frowned, wondering what she was saying.

"I'm sorry, Sherlock," she said with a little sniff. "I'm truly sorry. I've been angry at you when I shouldn't have been. Well, at least not for this long. I know you've done what you can. You've done more than most people would! And you care more than most people would. My God, you cared more than my fiancé…my ex fiancé at the time!" She laughed and grabbed a tissue to wipe her nose briefly before going on.

"Look, I know I've pushed you away and complained and been angry...but no more. I can't change how I've been treating you recently, but I want you to know that it'll be different now. I'm truly grateful for all you've done...and now this," she said gesturing to the letter she'd placed on the side table. "Once again you're proving that you really are here to help me."

Sherlock felt it safe to speak again. "Molly, I am sorry that I wasn't there before. I swear that if I had known everything, I would have been."

She nodded. "I know, I know. And I wanted you to be there during that time...so much. You have no idea. I suppose that's my only excuse for having been so bitter. I just..." Her voice broke again. "I needed you," she whispered.

He couldn't stay put any longer. A force drove him to get up and move to sit beside her on the bed, even though he felt a bit out of his depth once he was there. He gingerly placed his arm around her shoulder and was grateful that she took it from there. Molly leaned into him and wrapped her own arm around his back. They stayed like that for a few moments, neither saying anything. Then Molly straightened up again and looked at him.

"But um, I understand you needed someone as well," she said softly. "You thought that um...Mycroft told me that when you went away, you thought you wouldn't..." She couldn't actually say the words and ended up looking down in her lap again.

"Ah," Sherlock thought. "Mycroft's little meeting with Molly. Very clever…"

"But I did come back, Molly," he murmured. "I didn't tell you the truth of what I thought was about to happen, but I simply couldn't. I couldn't let you or anyone know. It seemed the only way."

"I would have found you another body if you asked nicely," she said with a laugh.

He laughed as well. "Yes, I know you would have!"

"But you were protecting me, weren't you?" she said, her voice becoming serious again as she looked up at him again with big brown eyes.

Sherlock swallowed hard when he turned and connected his gaze to hers. "Yes...of course I was."

 _"What I wouldn't do to protect you, Molly,"_ he thought.

She leaned into him again, breathing a sigh of relief to have things back to normal. No, not back to normal...this was much better. To feel his arm around her, breathe in his scent, and most of all to hear his sincerely spoken words of friendship, they were enough to make her feel a contentment that she'd been lacking for so long.

"I missed you, Sherlock," she whispered, before she could think to control how tender a tone of voice she was using. She could swear she felt his chest rising and falling more rapidly all of a sudden.

"I…" He hesitated, not used to saying these sort of things. He gripped her shoulder a bit tighter, perhaps partially to give himself some extra strength. "I missed you," he said, almost too quiet to hear. But Molly heard him.

She was very sure it was one of the most beautiful things she'd heard in a long time. Sherlock exhaled slowly and looked between Molly and the file resting at the table.

"You… you once said to me that I'm a bit like your dad," Sherlock whispered. Molly turned her head up slowly to look into his eyes.

"You remember that?" she asked in wonder.

"Yes," he said. "But you were wrong, Molly. I'm not like him." he swallowed thickly. "I'm not as brave as he was. I couldn't protect you the way he did all those years. I have nothing but the deepest regard for the man who brought you up." His voice was surprisingly warm and comforting. "He would be really proud of everything you did, all the research you've done."

Molly blinked and tears fell out of her eyes. "Would he?" she asked in a teary whisper.

"Yes, Molly. He would be." He cradled her face. "And so am I," he added slowly as he rubbed his thumb to wipe the tears.

The lump in Molly's throat tightened and she burst into uncontrollable tears.

"Molly…" He immediately wrapped his arms tightly around her, gathering her into a soothing hug. Sherlock wanted her to get it all out and this was the perfect moment.

Molly cried like a child into his chest. She was hiccupping and uttering words she hadn't spoken to anyone, words about her dad, words that Sherlock knew she'd only share with him. And he was willing to listen and do whatever she needed. After all, he too had been away from her…away from his home.

Sherlock leaned back slowly on the pillow, allowing her to recline more comfortably against him. He let her cry as he tightened his grip on her. After a while Molly slowed down. Her eyes were puffy, her face reddened and her brain feeling a severe head rush. Sherlock felt her breaths slowly returning back to normal. After few minutes, her body relaxed against him.

"Go to sleep, Molly," he whispered into her hair. She hiccupped once against his chest and fell asleep within minutes. In months, it was truly the first night she was getting a peaceful sleep, knowing that nothing can hurt her now because he was there for her.

* * *

 

Soft early morning noises and the tickle of soft snores against his neck made Sherlock open his eyes leisurely. He looked down and smiled to see Molly snuggled peacefully with him, sound asleep. He was surprised how easily, next to Molly, sleep had taken over him too. He smiled at the events of last night. It was a different experience for him, waking up like this. It felt almost… natural.

Carefully Sherlock withdrew Molly from his embrace. She hummed vaguely as he did so. It was still too early for her to wake up and Sherlock wanted her to sleep. He brushed a few strands off of her face and adjusted the blanket around her shoulders. He stared at her peaceful face for a few blissful moments before leaning down to kiss her forehead and then turned to leave.

* * *

 

Sherlock's aroma was the first thing that welcomed Molly's senses when she woke up at her usual time. She rolled over onto her back, breathing in his scent deeply and closed her eyes briefly, thinking about everything that had happened. She lifted her head to look around only to be greeted by a very amused Anthea sitting in her chair.

"Good morning. Looking for me?" Anthea asked playfully.

Molly laughed. "Of course. Who else would I be looking for," she answered innocently. Anthea nodded knowingly leaving a faint blush spreading on Molly's cheeks.

"So, I believe you had a good peaceful sleep?"

"Yes! I believe so," Molly replied as she pulled her hair up into a messy bun. "And I'm glad you took a break, Anthea. You're looking positively refreshed now. I think the beauty sleep worked," Molly said seriously, her playful eyes however were telling a very different story.

"And I'm glad I listened to you," Anthea replied before turning a deep shade of red. They burst into laughter.

"Shh…" Anthea hushed her between her giggles. "It's supposed to be a secret, Molly," she whispered.

"I always knew something was up," Molly clapped her hands in triumph. "How long?"

* * *

 

"There has to be an explanation for this," Lestrade huffed in irritation, throwing his hands in the air. "Tell me you've found something in common with this one!" he yelled at Sally over the noise of ambulance siren.

Sally shook her head. "There's nothing in common." She had been repeating this little sentence over and over again over the past eight days. "According to the forensics they haven't found anything unusually similar in the reports of the other two victims." Sally looked at her angry boss. "A bloody week and no improvements in your mood so far," she muttered under her breath.

"It's an open case of a suicide." Sergeant Baynes neared them. "Just like the other two."

"IT'S NOT A SUICIDE," Lestrade repeated furiously. "It's a murder. Search again and gather everything," He pointed a finger of authority. "And when I say everything, I mean everything."

Sergeant Baynes nodded with a sour expression as Lestrade marched away. He shook his head in irritation at the haughty behaviour of his superior. The unusual temper of DI Lestrade was getting on his nerves now.

"What's the matter with him? He's been like a bear with a sore head over past few days," the sergeant asked Donovon.

"Something's got to him. Probably he's agitated that the freak isn't around anymore or about the pathologist friend working at Barts that went missing."

"The small one with the brown hair?" he asked with interest. Sally nodded. "What happened?"

Lestrade was at his wit's end when he rested his head on his car's seat. He couldn't decide which one was bothering him the most. The fact that he no longer had his consulting detective friend's assistance to solve the murders so brilliantly disguised as suicides? Or that despite what he had hoped for, his tour to Molly's home had proved entirely fruitless? Or that their only hope, Mycroft Holmes, was not answering the calls and the messages he and John had left? And now, he was growing genuinely frustrated by the lack of any news about two of his really good friends, Sherlock and Molly.

He just couldn't forget how the grim look on the Watsons faces had made Lestrade's stomach lurch when he had given them the news on his return from Glasgow.

"She had been there for the last couple of months, according to a lady in the neighborhood," he had told John and Mary. "But she's not around anymore. Why are we always too late?"

Lestrade took a deep breath as he tried to calm himself.

"I'm a bloody Detective Inspector for God's sake. I should not give up," he reminded himself as he started his car. His phone made a chime as he approached his house. He took it out and glanced at the screen. Lestrade turned the wheels around no sooner had he read the text.

In ten minutes he was outside the Watson's place, panting slightly.

"What is it?" Lestrade abruptly asked John as he stepped inside the door. "What did he say?"

Playing a voice message John handed Lestrade his mobile phone. Mycroft's voice came out.

_"Hello John! I must apologize for a lack of contact. It's been brought to my attention that you and DI Lestrade are concerned about the whereabouts of Dr Hooper. I must inform you that she's with us and is in a perfectly secure position. Due to official matters nothing more can be said about this. Expect further details in the near future. Oh and our congratulations to the new parents."_

Lestrade looked between John and Mary who were beaming. A sigh of relief washed over him.

"She's safe," he said, still in utter disbelief. "Molly is in safe hands." They were so relieved that their friend was safe that the two men gave each other a big hug.

"I can't believe it," Mary exclaimed with teary voice. "We all have been worried sick and he's informing us now?"

John grinned before leaning in to kiss Mary's forehead. "Well, we will make sure he pays for it," he joked, pulling back and securing an arm around her shoulder. Lestrade gave Mary's hand a gentle squeeze.

"Us?" John quirked his brows questioningly once the excitement and joy of the moment wore off a bit. "What did he mean by us?"

"Don't know and honestly I don't care at the moment. I've had enough mysteries for today." Lestrade was smiling widely as he occupied a place on the sofa. "All I care about is that Molly is safe. And so will Sherlock be." He stretched his legs comfortably. He was suddenly feeling so relieved.

"How do you know that?" John asked.

"Well, Mycroft would have informed the yard if that wasn't the case," he replied.

Mary nodded. "He's right."

"You're staying for dinner this time," John ordered him. "This calls for a little celebration, doesn't it?" he asked Mary.

"Of course, but please tell me you're not cooking," she demanded. "Let's order something."

"Hey my cooking isn't that bad!"

Lestrade laughed at John's expression. Mary grinned.

"Fine! Let's order, shall we?" John went away to make a call.

"Now," Lestrade clapped his hands together. "Where is our little Charlotte Watson?" he asked Mary.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Finally, an initiation towards reconciliation ;) How'd you like it? I enjoyed writing this one. I believe that it's definitely a progress between Sherlolly and at the end of the day it was a hugely positive chapter after the long aghast. So I have given you Sherlolly, a bit of Mythea and a bit of Warstan in one chapter. I'm quite proud of myself right now XD.
> 
> I actually liked the idea of LibertyMalfoy to name the baby Watson "Charlotte" because according to her suggestion it sounds more like Sherlock.
> 
> A huge thanks to writingwife83 for the helpful beta reading and for writing the scene where Molly talks to Sherlock about forgiving him. It became much easier for me to proceed from there. Not gonna lie, this story wouldn't be as enjoyable as it is now without her signature touch. Love you my dear! Thanks to you too for reading it. I look forward to the feedback. See you again.


	14. Loving her was red

Molly didn’t expect to see Sherlock after that night when he silently left while she was still asleep. She wished he'd show up but deep down she was a bit nervous about facing him. And if she knew him better, Molly was sure that he would have been uncomfortable with the situation she had put him in despite the fact that he had held her...twice that night. Molly knew how things worked with Sherlock. He was rarely physical and that night she knew he had made an exception because he truly cared for her. But what Molly didn't know was that Sherlock was more nervous than her.

 Returning back to his place on the following morning, Sherlock had been in a war with himself and no one was winning. He admitted to himself that waking up, having Molly snuggled next to him, was a rather fuzzy and pleasant experience. It was warm, comfortable and over whelming to a bizarre level for Sherlock. Especially since he had never shared such close proximity to anyone before, the times with Janine he really never bothered to count.  And when it happened, it was not just anyone... it was Molly.

 He couldn’t just wipe out the memory of looking down at her peaceful self; wrapped inside the lapels of his way too long coat. It shouldn't have made him feel like he very much wished them to stay that way forever, but it did. And he was baffled and... scared by those undefined urges. It was different than the time before; back at her home when Molly had been battling with the unstable situation, she had needed his warmth. But even in that logical event, he hadn't been successful in forgetting the sensation and emotion his body and his mind felt. All the little details his senses came across, like Molly's scent, the smell of her soft brown hair, the small frame of her body fitting his own... so perfectly as if it was meant to be, as if it was made that way… for _him_. He hadn't been able to erase those little things out of his mind.

 And now, here he was again. It wasn't Molly who snuggled first. Why was he so willing to repeat it again...to have her closer to him?

 Sherlock took a very deep breath and closed his eyes. He needed to visit it now, no matter what awaited him in there. When he opened his eyes again, he was standing in a bright corridor of his mind palace. He blinked as he stood, looking intensely ahead him. He walked down the corridor of wooden doors and stopped just in front of a bolted one with worn out paint, depicting its age, and unlocked it slowly. He had locked that place down two years ago after his failed attempts of erasing them from his memory. As he pulled it open and stepped inside the door, bright light flooded his vision and when he was able to see again, there only few feet away in Barts lab, was Molly, dressed in the way she had been when he had first met her. Her hair braided to one side and the brand new lab coat with her name tag on it. She lifted her head up to smile at him as he continued towards her. Suddenly she disappeared and the room turned the shade of red as he took two steps inside and a shaking voice echoed from somewhere.

 - _always say such horrible things…_

 He clenched his hand into a tight fist as he continued into the room. This was what he had been scared of, why he had locked it in the first place. He was never able to organize it properly. He didn’t know what he might see in the scattered room of rough memories; memories that were of her and her only. He rounded about and the room went dark. He heard a soft whisper.

  _What do you need?_

 Sherlock blinked again, concentrating hard to get to the right place, to the memory in question but the room transformed into a wedding venue with bright yellow walls and only one person occupying the otherwise empty tables. Hands folded and face brightened with joy Molly was smiling proudly at him across the hall. A wide smile spread on Sherlock’s face as he walked towards her again. The next moment Sherlock was flat on his face as an invisible barrier hindered his way.

 He got to his feet again and tried breaching it, but in vain. “What’s the matter? Why can’t I reach her?” he yelled, as he struggled to get through whatever was there, stopping him from getting to the other side. The side where Molly was now chuckling softly, fiddling with the ring on her finger.

 “You can’t.” Someone’s calm voice came quietly and intensely behind him. He turned around as the venue vanished into nothingness and he was back into Barts lab.

 Dressed in her white coat, Molly shook her head as she looked seriously at him. “We can’t reach her.”

 “Why not, Molly?” he breathed out; panting slightly from the struggle he had made to get through.

 Molly laughed a humorless laugh. “Because John’s marriage was the last time you actually paid attention to her. After that you never saw her clearly, Sherlock. You don’t know what happened to her after that.”

 She stepped aside to let him see the vast empty space ahead of them.  “This is where all those memories would have been.” Molly walked up to him. “That’s their place. It’s a gap _you’ve_ created,” Molly informed as she came standing next to him.

 Sherlock looked down at her in confusion. “How do I fill it then, Molly?”

 She tilted her head and gazed up at him. "By talking to her, by knowing everything there is to know. You still don't know if she has told everything there is to tell. You still don't completely know her side of the story."

 Sherlock turned his full body towards her. “I AM talking to you,” Sherlock quipped as he stepped into her space and placed his hand on her waist, slowly hauling her against him. “Tell me, please!” he breathed against the soft skin of her face. “I want to know, Molly.”

 She giggled. “I’m not Molly. I’m just a fragment of your imagination, trapped here by you,” she said as she leaned in.

  Sherlock’s eyelids fluttered shut as Molly leaned against him and placed a lingering kiss just at the corner of his partially open mouth.  He sighed as she did so, trying to capture the sensation that drove through his body. But somehow he was failing to feel it completely. It didn’t felt real.

 “You want to fill the gap- ask her,” she whispered against his skin.

 But before he could do anything the light flickered a few times and the place went pitch black.

 “-Ask her.” The words echoed like a whisper and when the light hit him again, Sherlock was standing alone, looking back at the vast emptiness behind him. Sherlock knew where to head from there as he knew what had happened afterward.  

 " _Why were you after her?"_

 Sherlock watched himself outside the Manson’s as he yelled, grabbing the collar of Cobb, the Xero. The place transformed again in a blink and now Sherlock was standing in Molly’s bedroom. He was starting to get bit annoyed how little he was able to control the ever changing memory locations and with this _fragment of his imagination’s_ authority. 

 “Hmm! This one is our favourite.”  

 Sherlock glanced around to see Molly sitting at her writing desk, her face propped on her hands. She was dressed like the day they had worked together and was smiling smugly.

 “I like the way you’re struggling to keep her alive…” she said as the real Sherlock pulled unconscious Molly closer. “And warm. So do you, that’s why you kept the memory.”

 His eyes fixed on them as Molly almost hid inside Sherlock’s coat. The room flooded with words swimming all around Sherlock as soon as they made contact.

 “Ooh, she smells nice, doesn’t she?” Molly sniffed.  “And so… soft.” Molly got on her feet, and strode towards Sherlock. “That was a new sensation. Do you want us to write it down?” 

 She brought a notepad out and started writing. She was acting like she had been when they had solved crimes together, writing down things for him.

 “Us?” he asked. Why did she keep calling them that? He thought.  “Why would _you_ write it? It's _my_ mind palace. I control it,” Sherlock said.

 Molly raised a quizzical eyebrow at him and then abruptly snorted. "Not here! You don't. You barely visit this place." She dismissed what he said as she continued scribbling. "You put me here, remember? You have little to no control. Not for a while anyway.”

 She explained it all as she conjured the word "texture" swirling it in mid air and watching as it unlocked into individual letters. Her notepad glowed as it absorbed the new information.

 “ Now-” She looked at him, and gestured to the shimmering words dancing all around them.  “Tell me if we should save these findings?”

 Sherlock stared at her in confusion. “I…I don-”

 “-As a matter of fact, don't,” she interjected. “We're going to save them anyway since they can’t even be erased. So there’s no point in asking, is there?” Shrugging she returned to her work.

 Sherlock stared and stared at her in astonishment, unable to understand why she was so authoritative in a space that was of his own creation. Sure he had been avoiding this part of his mind palace because of the memories, the sentiments that he felt-

  _Felt!_

 "What _are_ you!?" Sherlock was surprised how hoarsely his voice came as he observed her from head to toe. "If you say I put you here than why do I not know about you?”

 Molly only smiled at his bafflement as she continued writing. "You haven't figured it out yet, Sherlock?” she teased.  “Tell me, what did you hear first when you entered this place?"

 "I heard her...” Sherlock’s voice trailed off. He really didn’t want to utter what his harsh words compelled Molly to say that one horrible Christmas.

 "Exactly! That was guilt. _Our_ guilt, Sherlock! The first thing you stumbled upon in this place was guilt because that's what we've been feeling until now. The guilt of letting her slip out of our hand. Then came the trust and uncertainty, followed by regret. And that..." She pointed to the real Sherlock who was keeping Molly warm. "That's protectiveness. It's all here, Sherlock. Our guilt, anger, jealousy, regret, trust, uncertainty, care and protectiveness. This is the place where you kept these emotions. I knew you'd come looking for them one day."

 Sherlock listened to her attentively as he took two steps forward and came toe to toe with her. Slowly, he reached out for her and touched her face. As soon as he did so, a bleak image of him flickered through her. He pulled his hand back instantly in shock.

 "Hello again!" she teased.

 It took him a moment to realize what that meant. “Oh! ...So… you are...in fact...me?  The unconscious emotions of my brain… disguised as... Molly?"

 She nodded.   “Mmhmm.”

 Sherlock frowned in concentration. "You showed me all my emotions but not love. Why didn't you say love?"

 "You tell me," Molly said playfully. In the blink of an eye the scene shifted again. Sherlock scowled in absolute irritation as he stood there.

 "Would you at least let me try and do it for once? You're being overly dramatic," he grunted as he spotted her standing next to the window. _When did I let my unconscious become so authoritative_? He thought again.

 "I can’t help a little touch of drama. Can you really blame me, Sherlock? I am _you_!" she was saying.

 Sherlock huffed as he turned around to have a better view of where she had made them arrive this time.

  _“Finally_ ,” he said. Sherlock found himself inside the Molly’s hospital room, the one he had spent the previous night and some of his days from previous weeks in.

 "You said all the feelings we felt for Molly came here. But none of those anomalies are, and never had been strong enough to make transitions between memories like you do.. They never took over. It's as if you’re the strongest.” Sherlock was pacing fast.  “But you… the last time I checked, you weren’t here. So you must have been created sometime recently."

 Molly was smiling knowingly now. "Y-yes! What am I then, Sherlock? What is the strongest of all emotions?”

 Sherlock was pacing faster and faster. He abruptly spun to peer at the two figures snuggled up before him and for the first time he saw it. It was there, right there in front of him. Sherlock's face was mirroring Molly's peacefulness as they slept there.

With a halt, Sherlock stopped in his tracks. Molly could see the frantic look on his face as he stood as if struck by a bolt of lightening.  " _Love!_ "  

 Molly’s lips curled up into a sweet little smile. “Took you long enough to realize it, wouldn’t you agree?”

 Sherlock’s eyes glistened. "Which would mean… _that I...love ...Molly_..?”

 "No need to sound so surprised," Molly said dryly.

 “That’s why you’re here. You’re not just another unconscious emotion from my brain. You’re love.” Sherlock was smiling widely, proudly and sincerely. “You are my love for Molly. You’re here because I love her.” His voice was over whelmed.

 "Now,” Molly straightened up from the window ledge she’d been leaning on as she watched Sherlock’s smile getting wider and wider. “Since your mystery is solved and you’ve found what you were looking for, I'd like you to run back- _muppff_

 She was cut short in mid speech as Sherlock had reached the window and made a good measure to silence her as he crushed his lips to hers, locking her between the sweet trap of his arms and the window behind her.

 "W-what are you doing?" she asked in confusion, pulling away just a bit.

 The smile Sherlock gave her was just too mischievous as he looked down at her. "I'm taking back the control,” he replied as he dived back in.  This time kissing her more passionately and eagerly, ignoring the fact that she wasn’t even real. But he couldn’t just let it pass like this _. He was in love with Molly Hooper._ It had taken him a while to get there of course and now was the time to rejoice it.

 "Y..you cannot take control-" she commanded, out of breath but stopped as Sherlock snapped his fingers and they were back in Bart's lab, where he had started.

 Sherlock winked at her playfully. “You were saying?" he said as he slowly let his hands drift away from her waist and came to rest at his sides. Molly only scowled at him in response.

 “This place needs _my_ management. Seeing as from now on, I'll be here more often. Besides, you’ve been _awfully_ helpful in hijacking it! Might not want to repeat that again."

 He winked playfully at her as she giggled. Sherlock removed his belstaff and gave it to her, revealing his purple shirt.  

 "Did I tell you how much Molly likes this shirt?"

 "Yes!” He said pointedly.  “Now be quiet!” He brought his hands in front of him. “This is going to take some time,” he murmured to himself.

 "Yeah the mess you've made," she mocked him as she threw herself into a nearby chair. “Besides-” she imitated him. “I wouldn’t mind seeing what you would do to fill _the gap_.”

 

* * *

 

 The last rays of sunshine coming through the window hit his dilated pupils mercilessly when Sherlock opened his eyes as he emerged out of the depths of his mind. Naturally his hands went up to cover his eyes, blinking a few times to gain a better view of his surroundings and realized that the re arrangement of “Molly’s space” had indeed taken him longer than he expected. The day was at its end. Sherlock was tired but at the same time he was feeling so light headed. It was peaceful; his mind was genuinely and completely at ease after so long.

 He was in love. He was in love with Molly Hooper, and that thought was making him smile widely. He still didn’t fully understand that feeling but he had to admit it was… amazing. He wanted to see her right now. There was still time for him to go and pay Molly a visit, he thought as he glanced at the wall clock. She’d probably be confused about why he had just left without saying anything to her after what happened last night. Sherlock got to his feet and removed his jacket. He marched towards the bathroom as he continued unbuttoning his shirt.

 “-I understand that the delay has caused undue restlessness among the peers. But rest assured that the matter is well attended now.” Mycroft straightened up as he heard footsteps approaching.

 “Of course,” Mycroft continued speaking into his phone as now a fully dressed Sherlock entered the room a few moments later. Sherlock looked at him suspiciously as there was an abrupt change in his brother’s body language.

 “Of course! I’ll be delighted to brief you with the details.”

 Sherlock frowned in acknowledgment as his eyes drifted to the file lying to one side on small table. He walked across the room and strode towards the large mirror on the wall.

 “Till then,” Mycroft said formally, before hanging up. He looked at Sherlock as he tugged his phone back into the pocket of his waistcoat. “You’ve been quite occupied this afternoon, haven’t you?”

 “And a very good evening to you too, brother,” Sherlock smirked as he tucked his shirt into his trousers.  “Heading back to London of course?”

 “Yes. I’ll leave shortly. There are matters that require my attention. Besides, the Prime Minister wants a brief overview of the case progression and he wants it from me.”

 “Oh I believe he would.” Sherlock smirked.

 “Evidently, everything is almost sorted. The CEXON is working smoothly. It’s time for you too to get back to work. As you know Cobb hasn’t been very co operative. But fortunately we have gotten the machine to work and now we need to move.”

 “I’m sure the results would have been much more fruitful if I had been allowed to visit him more often,” Sherlock said begrudgingly.

 “Yes, I might have actually let you if you haven’t turned this into a personal fight. As much as you’d love to break the Xero, we want him alive, Sherlock,” Mycroft reminded him.

 “He nearly killed Molly!” Sherlock said childishly. Mycroft almost rolled his eyes but managed to restrain himself. “And that’s the only reason he’s breathing because _you want him alive_. But that certainly wouldn’t be the case with his accomplices. I will track and eliminate every last one of them if it secures Molly forever.”

 Mycroft watched him closely as Sherlock marched past him and picked up the file after he’s done buttoning up. He had, of course, seen him in the past few weeks but today there was definitely something different about him. He seemed determined and happy.

 “These are latest location leads of The Xeroes as promised,” Mycroft informed him as he observed Sherlock even more thoroughly. And as he did so, he gasped internally as Sherlock’s eyes glowed with excitement. This was what he had feared. Sherlock had turned it into a personal mission.

 “This time you won’t be on your own though,” Mycroft declared, after deducing his brother’s intentions. “Bradford will be joining you in this task. He’s one of our best double agents and you’ve already collaborated with him so it won’t be too difficult for you.”

 Sherlock snapped the file shut. “What do you think of my appearance tonight?” he asked with a hideously false smile.

 “Sherlock!” Mycroft sounded exasperated. “Don’t change the subject.”

 "You well know that I work alone, Mycroft! You don’t trust my ability to survive, brother? I’m perfectly capable of looking after own my life.”

 “Are you?” Mycroft asked him seriously. Sherlock momentarily looked away around the room, ignoring his brother’s piercing gaze. “Now look here, Sherlock. Bradford is accompanying you, is that quite clear? I’ve made a promise to mummy that I’ll keep you safe. Would you like me to tell her exactly what you’ve done and why you’ve been out of the country for last couple of mouths? Because that can be arranged, brother mine.”

 Mycroft smirked as his brother threw him a murderous look. “Alright!” Sherlock surrendered.

 “There! Wasn’t that easy?” Mycroft sighed in contentment, making Sherlock scowl.  “Inform me when you’re ready,” Mycroft said as he got to his feet, peering at his watch. “I have a meeting with a physiatrist, Dr Gallus has recommended in London. It seems they have received Molly’s reports and I intend to have some serious discussions about her future.”

 Sherlock snapped his head in Mycroft’s direction.  “What do you mean?”

 “Well of course, did you honestly believe that you’d be the only one leaving, Sherlock?” Mycroft asked incredulously.

 “She’s l…leaving for where… exactly?” Sherlock asked him slowly. He wasn’t sure if he even wanted to hear the answer. In a moment, his happiness turned into a grimace. Oh how much he was rejoicing in the feeling of being in love with Molly merely moments ago.

 “All in good time, Sherlock,” Mycroft replied. “Oh and by the way. You might need to be careful when around Molly Hooper, brother mine. It so happens that Dr Gallus slipped up with something. And now she might have a question or two for you. And no, I cannot help you.” Mycroft smiled warningly. “Give my love to Molly,” he said, tipping his trademark umbrella as he turned to walk away. “Tell her I’ll see her very soon again. Perhaps you can prepare her for the new adjustments.”

 What Mycroft left behind was a very baffled man who knew exactly what he was about to face, thinking and wondering why John Watson was not there when he needed him the most.

 

 

 


End file.
